Assassin's Creed: The Watchmen, Inheritance
by JediKnightMarina55
Summary: Desmond has survived to the events in the Grand Temple, also thanks to a younger Assassin and his last attempt to bring him back. But Juno is at large. Once more, to save the future, the Assassins will have to know the past. Just, this time, it will be through the pages of a book, written by Ezio Auditore's daughter. And this time Desmond will not be alone.
1. Prologue

_**So, the idea for this came to me after Luci di Natale. Some people on DeviantArt – and my sister – proposed me to write about what happened after Ezio gave up the stage.**_

_**Well, my sister's proposal was kinda different. She only said "I bet Flavia will take up her Papà's mantle". And I was like "Yeah, of course. But I doubt Desmond will be willing to…".**_

_**I looked up at least ten history pages on Wikipedia, both the Italian and English sites.**_

_**I found at my grandma's an old children's book about condottieri just to gather news on a SINGLE character.**_

_**I tried hard to find coincidences, mysteries, and interesting stuff I could use for the story.**_

_**This is what came out of my mind.**_

* * *

><p><em>To my sister and my "brother", as usual.<em>

_And to everyone who supported me and told me "I can't wait"_

* * *

><p><em>While we live according to race, colour or creed<br>While we rule by blind madness and pure greed  
>Our lives dictated by tradition, superstition, false religion<br>Through the eons, and on and on  
>Oh yes we'll keep on tryin'<br>We'll tread that fine line  
>Oh we'll keep on tryin'<br>Till the end of time_

_(Queen, Innuendo)_

_Dec 30, 2012, somewhere in the United States_

Christmas had come and gone, even if the Assassins didn't really celebrate. New Year was drawing near, and with everything that had happened, Desmond Miles had resolved he should have been happy to have another New Year's Day to celebrate, with everything that had happened.

They had gone again into hiding, in one of the many Assassins hideout in the United States, and Shaun had joined them after Christmas.

Their recent victory had been a relief, but only a battle had been won, not the entire war. There was still a lot to be done to eradicate Templars for once, and Desmond wasn't sure he would have seen their end.

He just knew no one would have led him in the battle again, not in the immediate future. He had been a hero, that was for sure.

"What took you so long?" Desmond asked Shaun as he entered the room he was in

"A friend in London found something" Shaun explained shrugging "I thought you could find it interesting. Buried deep under St. Peter ad Vincula, along with something – or better, _someone_ else. I couldn't believe my eyes when I was given it"

"What?" Desmond asked, standing from the chair he had been sitting in

"_This_" Shaun answered, taking out a makeshift book with a theatrical gesture

"Ha, ha, very funny. That thing didn't come out of a vault, it came out of a laser printer"

"Did you really think I'd make you read the original? Then again, it was written in Italian, you wouldn't have understood a thing"

"Anyway, what else did you find?"

"You read it, you'll find" Shaun told him tossing the book in his hands "Just be happy you won't have to use the Animus for your great-great-great-whatever-grandma, because _she_ wrote _that_"

"Great-great-whatever-grandma?" Desmond asked, puzzled "Who are you talking about?"

"Listen, Ezio didn't disappear after finding Altair in Masyaf, did he? Especially because he still needed to sire"

"What does Ezio matter? I'm _done_ with him. Bye. Bye. _Addio_"

"Strange, I thought you and he were getting along"

"Shut the fuck up"

"Listen, in here I found the proofs of a conspiracy I found about as a kid. Bloody Mary, know her, right? As it seems, she was killed. _Assassinated_, I should say"

"I _do_ know"

"What you don't know, is that the Assassin, as it seems, was an acquaintance of yours" Shaun said turning some pages. The portrait of two teenagers was one of the first pages. In the bottom right corner, a badly-scribbled signature, on which the letters A and F could be recognized.

Both the kids were clothed as assassins, though their hoods had been lowered. One of them was visibly a girl, but Desmond could not tell which one was older as they were about the same height. The boy wore a black armor, perhaps a bit too large for him, while the girl was dressed in the far more common white and red (or at least, if the artist had left it blank, Desmond supposed it was so).

"The girl here is the author of all the written stuff" Shaun explained "Maybe not a Nobel literature prize, but hey, it's _your family_ we're talking about"

"Yeah, but what else did you find in the vault? And who's A. F.?"

"_Read_" Shaun said, exiting the room

Desmond threw himself on the chair again and laid the book on his lap. The two kids grinned at him from the photocopy, their smiles made immortal by the unknown A. F.'s pencil.

He turned another page.

The following one was totally blank, except for a scribbled line. Maybe Shaun had wanted to make a copy of the original dedication, because it was definitely someone's handwriting, and definitely Italian.

_A chiunque creda che questo mondo possa essere salvato_

He turned another page. This time, the line had been typed in English.

_To whoever believes this world can be saved_

_When I was a little girl, my parents kept telling me we live for the other people._

_We are born because a man and a woman decide they want us, we make them smile with our first laugh, our first word, our first steps._

_We are taught how to live, so we'll be able to do something in our lives. We play with other kids, and we create fun for them, while they create it for us. We help our parents more and more as we become adults and they grow old._

_And when we're grown up, we start working. Farmers grow food, blacksmiths make tools, masons build houses. It's a huge chain, if you notice it._

_Blacksmiths make sure that masons and farmers can do their job, masons provide a roof under which farmers and blacksmiths can live, farmers produce food so everyone can live._

_And I even simplified this! Reality is far more tangled!_

_Then, one day, a man meets a woman. They just feel good staying with each other, so they decide to be together forever. And this, reader, is called love._

_At a point, they love each other so much they decide to make another life. They raise a child together, make him stand and make him speak._

_They stand along with their child, teaching him what's right and what's wrong. They keep helping him in any way they can, raising their grandchildren if they still can._

_If only this always happened._

_There are people, in this huge, tangled chain, who believe their life is nothing but theirs. They take, though they won't give. They're parasites._

_Parasites lead to unrest. Unrest leads to war._

_As long as there's war, there will be people who want peace._

_There are people who want to force peace, and they're as good as parasites._

_And there are people who want to teach peace. People who fight for it. Who truly want it to last._

_I'm one of them, like my brother, my father and my grandfather._

_My name is Flavia Auditore, and I'm an Assassin._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Small bit of translation time. "Addio" means farewell. <strong>_

**_And yeah, the "philosophical part" is actually what I think of life._**


	2. A bolt from the blue

_**Now, this chapter, or at least the final part, was very, really hard.**_

_**I mean, how can you write about something that you never felt?**_

_**I had to help myself a lot with Harry Potter books. At least, J. K. Rowling knows how it feels, and I was able to write down the last lines.**_

_**Anyway, thanks to everyone who commented, really.**_

_**The name Edoardo comes both from a neighbor that used to pick on me and my sister and, yeah, it's also the Italian correspondent of Edward. (Yes, I don't like Twilight at all)**_

_**I'll put some more names "from my life" in Chapter 2, and this time it will be a tribute to some of the actors of the acting company I'm in, Platform Zero.**_

* * *

><p><em>My father found out the truth about his family when he had already become a man, and maybe, I have to say, in the worst possible way.<em>

_I can call myself lucky to have been told the truth by his own voice. My grandfather was taken by surprise, my father wasn't._

_He knew his time was running out, and though he didn't want to involve us in a war, he knew the Brotherhood would have needed us. He knew the war was far from over._

_Without us knowing, almost without himself knowing, he had gotten us ready for the day we would have left our home and picked up the weapons for the freedom of mankind._

_He would have never wanted that day to come. But the eagles came home to roost, along with a traveler, a girl from a land far away._

_I was nothing but a little girl, in that fall that changed everything._

_Before I could understand anything, my mother, my little brother and I were sent at a family friend's house. When we came back home, the truth could no longer be hidden._

* * *

><p><em>Fiesole, 1524<em>

Chapter 1

A bolt from the blue

Marcello Auditore was no stupid.

He was almost ten years old, he could read and write, unlike most of the countryside kids in the small town he lived in with his family, he could climb walls, and in more than a patronal festival he had outrun all the boys of his age.

In the town, there was a small gang against him and his sister, overall because they spent a lot of time on their own, and it was especially their leader, a certain Edoardo Bove, the one who said Marcello was a stupid.

Then again, the fact Edoardo's mother always said that "red hair were devil's hair" didn't help at all. Especially because Marcello's hair _was_ red.

Marcello had tried anything to avoid being mocked. He had covered his hair in dirt – just to be scolded by Mamma and dumped into a tub full of water and soap. He had found an old hat which had belonged to Papà and he had been mocked because of the hat.

Since those times, he had always preferred staying with Flavia than staying with the boys. Flavia might have been a girl, but she wasn't like the other girls. She preferred playing hide-and-seek or with a ball to dolls, and she didn't loathe hugging him even when he was covered in mud (the other girls said the boys smelled awful).

They both could play chess, even if neither of them was really better than the other. They could end up in a stalemate, sometimes Flavia won, and sometimes Marcello did, but no one really prevailed.

Mamma said it was normal. They always challenged each other, they knew each other like the palm of their own hands. It was likely the situation would have been different, with other opponents.

Both Mamma and Papà could beat him easily, but he was only ten, and in Mamma's opinion, he and his sister were the brightest kids she had ever seen.

He was no stupid.

But even a stupid would have understood his house had been attacked.

The main door was missing a piece. There were stains on the ground – someone had tried to wash them away, but there still were the traces. Part of the furniture had visibly been knocked over.

"Papà, was it a thief?" Marcello asked

"Thieves? How is that possible?" Flavia replied "I mean, thieves go in big cities, we are the only family here who… wait, where's Jun?"

"They were soldiers, not thieves. And they were looking for her" Papà explained in plain voice

"Why? And where's she now?" Flavia asked again

"On her way home. She'll travel for a long time, but she'll get there"

"Why were they looking for her?" Marcello added

"Well, she was… _ragazzi_, it's a long story. And it starts… from here"

He unfolded a piece of paper, on which had been drawn the portrait of a boy whose face was partially covered by a hood.

"_Assassino_?" asked Marcello taking the poster from his father's hands "So, this bloke killed a man. So, what does he matter with what happened here?"

"Marcello, wait!" Flavia intervened. She took the sheet from his hands and raised it at his face's level. She seemed to have understood something Marcello didn't.

"I hope you're not thinking it's about me. That guy must be at least eighteen years old" Marcello snorted as Flavia's gaze went back and forth from him to the picture

"_Seven_teen" Papà contradicted him in a bitter voice "The gonfaloniere of Firenze, Uberto Alberti, condemned to gallows your grandfather and your two uncles. He would have killed me, too, if I had not spent the night… _at a friend's_"

"_Aspetta_. Wait… is that _you_?" Marcello asked snatching the poster from his sister's hands and comparing the two faces "You mean… Vieri… his old man… Cesare… the rat…?"

"Duccio de Luca got nothing but _botte_ from me, you can be certain of it" Papà said with a grin "And he _deserved_ it too. Anyway, the point is, Vieri de'Pazzi, his father Francesco, Cesare Borgia, Pope Alexander VI, the Doge, they all were part of a plan to take over the world, to take over the people's minds. My father found it out, he tried to put a spoke in their wheel. They had to corrupt his friend to get rid of him. Their worst mistake: I entered the stage, and man after man, I turned their performance into a _fiasco_"

"What has this story got to do with Jun?" Flavia asked

"Let's sit down. It's a long story, and I'm not the boy on that poster anymore" Papà told them pointing at three chairs, which he had surely put there because of the upcoming conversation.

Flavia was the first one to sit. Marcello, on the other hand, folded the poster and stuffed it under his clothes.

"You don't need to hide it, you know? You can keep it" Papà told him taking a seat "So, we were saying, I spent a lot of time in Roma, to liberate the city from Borgia influence, and I trained a few youngsters there. There are twelve of them I could list on the spot anytime, even after all this time. I won't say what a _casino _was trying to keep them in line. All of a sudden I had to save Beatrice's little brother, who had been captured by Borgia guards in retaliation, check that Piero and Candida had not stayed in the tunnels to do the lovebirds, make sure Desideria would not leave _le penne_ behind trying to save a boy fallen in Tiber river, make the two buffoons, Ciro and Salvo, stay quiet for once… they were twelve rascals, but they also were almost family for me. Paolo and Emiliana even followed me to Constantinople some years later! I appreciated much more the hell they gave me, than the actual role of Mentor I achieved later"

Flavia started laughing, while Marcello just grinned.

"Sometimes I hear people talking about _Assassini_, in Fiesole and in Firenze too. But they don't say they're friends, they clown around, or they do the lovebirds, or they save drowning kids" he commented

"People also say something else, Marcello" Papà said "For example, _if you want to know a family, you must be a part of it_. By the way, to answer your question, Shao Jun is an Assassin. She was looking for me to find a way to liberate the Cathay from a tyrant ruler"

"_Cathay_?" Marcello asked, agape "But… it's across the whole world! Did she travel so long?"

"When you want to do something, Marcello, when you _really need to_, there's nothing that can stop you, not even a long and perilous road. There will be always someone who wants to force his will on the others', and until there will stand a man like that, Assassins will be there, too"

"You mean the bad guys could come back?"

"_L'erba cattiva non muore mai_" Flavia intervened "Weeds never vanish for once"

"I'm afraid so. Look at the world now, look at what happens in the Empire. Luther's followers, the Church, free will, bondage of the will. The Emperor declared war to the King of France, and so on and so forth"

"And the Assassins? Aren't they doing anything?" Flavia asked

"They act in the shadows, as always. One of them, Giovanni, is leading an army, but for the world he's just one of the many _condottieri_ around. Giampiero and Enrico are still working in the Brotherhood of Rome, now your aunt can't do it any longer. Remember when Leo X died? It was no natural death. Enrico found the murderer and put him to the sword, not before drawing a name from him. _Jakob Fugger_"

"_Enrico_ did this?" Marcello said, puzzled

His two cousins, Zia Claudia's sons, Giampiero and Enrico Donati, were not the most usual visitors of the villa, but, even not knowing them well, Marcello would never have said they were Assassins.

Giampiero was over thirty years old, he was married, and had a four-years-old son.

Enrico, in his mid twenties, was a strapping boy, always laughing, who pulled out in some unknown way florins from Marcello's ears or ruffled the hair of any kid too close to him.

He would have said _Papà_ was an Ass…

_Wait a minute, Marcello, you didn't even think PAPÀ could have been one._

He nodded.

"So… you mean… we have to join the Brotherhood?" Flavia second-guessed him "Or just Marcello?"

"No one of you"

"_Che COSA_?"

Suddenly, Marcello found himself on his feet.

Something told him Papà was up to raise his voice, and he stayed still and quiet.

When Papà raised his voice, he was _scary_.

"Papà, but you always say we live for the others" Flavia intervened

"I don't want you to run useless risks. It would be a life of pain. You will have to choose, when you will know enough to make a real choice" Papà resolved "Surely not now"

"But Papà, your life wasn't all pain. You got us" Marcello said stepping forward

He hoped Papà would have understood what he was up to, as usual. He hoped he would have understood he wanted to sit on his knees.

And he seemed to get it, because he gestured with his hand for him to sit on, and did the same with Flavia.

"I'm telling you this because _vi voglio bene_" he told them as Marcello laid the head on his shoulder "You two are the best thing about me. I had no choice, when it went to my future's matter. But I want you to have yours"

"I want to help" Marcello affirmed

"_Molto bene_. Very well" Papà said with a grin "Now, I suppose your mother and I would need a bit of help to tidy up"

"_Papà_! I'm ten… well, _almost_ ten"

"That's the point, you're ten. You're not old enough to fix a door, and you want to go out and fight a war?"

Marcello felt his face growing warm. He had contradicted himself, as usual!

"Come on, go out and play. Your things are still in the shack"

Marcello quickly jumped down and rushed outside, while Flavia didn't join him until a few moments after he was out of the house.

"What took you so long?"

"Why on Earth is that you keep boasting about your so-called sixth sense, yet you can't spot what's under your nose?" Flavia scolded him in a low voice "I think Papà is not alright"

"Papà is not alright?"

"Reason, Marcello. He didn't pick you up when we arrived. And now he has even spilled the beans"

"How else would he have explained all that _casino_? And by the way, he didn't pick _you_ up, last year"

"As you ran off, I saw him clutching his arm"

"He must have gotten hurt fighting the bad guys"

"Marcello, I'm afraid for him"

"For _Papà_? Come on Flavia, he's an…" he mouthed the word _As-sas-si-no_ "He has surely seen much worse"

"What would your old man be, ginger?"

"Much better than yours, _Bove_" Marcello said turning "At least my father can write his name. And _I can, too_"

Edoardo Bove was standing, his hands on his hips, in the small patch of garden not covered by plants in front of the villa. Anyone could have seen from miles he was wearing his older brothers' hand-me-down clothes, he was covered in dirt from hair to toes and was barefoot, but his broad shoulders, square jaw and calloused hands made people think he had seen more winters than the eleven he had actually gone through.

"Maybe your father was a thief? One of those cocksuckers who steal the people's bread? Or maybe… he was a bastard?"

"How _dare_ you?"

This time, it was Flavia who had not been able to hold herself back.

"You're just envious!" Marcello added to help her out "Do you think I haven't seen your old man? He smells, he hits you and your sibs, he gets drunk at night, never a hug, never by your side, you only tell this because that _cane_ you call father does not love you!"

Edoardo turned suddenly red.

Not only his face, like it would have been normal after such an insult. Everything. Face, hands, hair, even his faded clothes.

"Flavia… I see red" Marcello announced pressing a hand against his forehead

Was he going blind?

_Damn, not now. I still have to learn a trade. Papà still has to teach me how to use a sword. Not now, not now, not…_

"_Bambini_? What's going on?"

Marcello blinked his eyes and found out he could see well again. Edoardo had run away.

"Mamma!" Flavia broke out running to where she had just came outside "Marcello is not feeling well. He said he saw red"

"I'm fine now" Marcello replied "It was Edoardo. All red, from hair to toes. And all around, it was dark"

Mamma looked in his eyes, but Marcello could not say if she was angry or worried.

"I won't go blind, will I?"

"Not at all" Mamma said hugging him "You said you saw him red, didn't you?"

"_Sì_"

"Is Edoardo the kid who always bothers you?"

"_Sì_"

"He carried it too far today" Flavia added "If you had not come out, I think he would have attacked Marcello"

"If I had a sword like the one Papà had, he would not even dream such a thing!" Marcello grumbled

"Rule number one: don't use a sword on someone who wouldn't use one on you" Papà intervened as they got back inside

"Didn't you say we would not…?" Flavia asked

"Provided that what I won't eat again what I said, what I said now is the difference between an Assassin and a killer. I did use the sword, Marcello, and not only that, but only on real threats. Someone threatening you with bare hands must not be attacked with a blade"

Marcello nodded, but stayed silent. He still wasn't certain of what Flavia had told him before, but _bloody Hell_, something was really happening to Papà, and Marcello suspected he knew what had made him change his mind.

He had believed for nearly ten years that his father had been one of the most average people in the whole world, and he had invented stories about himself facing villains for his children's fun. Now he knew the truth, he would have liked seeing Papà armed to the teeth, with his hair still dark, kicking mad Vieri's and depraved Cesare's backsides.

"What are you thinking about, Marcello?"

Papà, the white-haired one who had a vineyard, stopped his thoughts putting a hand on his head.

"At when I saw red" Marcello lied making a grimace as he usually did when he was worried for something

Papà crouched at his eyes' level, grunting for the effort.

"Marcello, look at me"

"Sì?"

"Try to look beyond what you see. Focus. Try to feel what's around you"

"You make it sound easy" Marcello snorted

"It is easy. You did it before. Why shouldn't you now?"

"I didn't notice it before"

"Don't think about it. Don't worry. No one is hurrying you"

Marcello took a deep breath and tried to focus again. _Don't think about it. Don't worry._ The thing seemed easier said than done, but he told himself he had to do it.

Then again, what would have showed him he had done it?

He looked at the floor, then he raised his head again to tell Papà he wouldn't have succeeded.

What got him surprised was that Papà's clothes were blue, and _not just those_.

"Aha? _Visto_?" Papà asked him with a grin

Marcello blinked again, and the blue aura around Papà disappeared.

"The ones you see like you saw me, remember, will be your friends. You can trust if you see blue" Papà explained standing up again "The ones you see grey don't know you and don't care about you, and neither you should care about them. But if you see red, beware, it means someone is willing to hurt you, if he or she has the chance"

"What do I do if I see red?"

"You run. You hide. You call for me"

"What if… what if you can't hear me?"

"I will. _Promesso_. I'll always be there for you, understood? Always"

He was going to put his hands on Marcello's shoulders, but he suddenly grimaced out of pain, clutching his left arm with his right hand.

Almost instinctively, Marcello looked for Flavia's gaze. She, too, was looking at Papà, and she, too, was worried.

* * *

><p><em>Eleven and ten years old.<em>

_What else could we have done?_

_Marcello was the first to stop worrying. And how to blame him for this?_

_His tenth birthday was growing near, he was excited._

_If I talked him now about those days, he'd say he should have understood something was happening._

_He'd say that he should have stayed more time with our father, in those last days._

_But if I have to tell the truth, in those very days Papà took the matter in his own hands. He had understood his time was running out, whatever was that pain in the arm._

_He had started spending more time with us. Telling his story._

_Marcello's birthday came and went, and it was the usual family celebration, with Andrea and Serena working since sunrise, some family friends from this or that nearby town, and the birthday boy's ears purple after ten pulls._

_But I think the present Marcello appreciated most was not new clothes, nor the toy sword, not even the celebration._

_This time, he was just happy because he had turned ten._

_Because he was growing up._

* * *

><p>"Hey, Papà"<p>

Flavia and Marcello had gone to Fiesole with Mamma, and they had come back, tired, and in Marcello's case, slightly dirty, but really happy, at sunset.

After a bath and the evening meal, the two kids had been sent to bed, and as always Papà had sang them one of his many songs.

He wasn't that great singer, and lately his rhymes were interrupted by cough, but still Marcello considered them the best songs ever, especially now he knew the stories were true.

"Was this Cesare so bad?" he asked as Papà stopped in the doorway

"If I told you the things he was used to do, you wouldn't sleep" Papà told him sitting on his bed again "I can only tell you his date with gravity in Viana was quite pleasant for me and quite unpleasant for him"

Marcello grinned.

"You know, Papà, I've written a song, too"

"Oh, really? And when?"

"Today, in Fiesole"

"What are you talking about?" Flavia asked him "We only had that encounter with Edoardo"

"That's what I mean. If Papà wrote the Cesare song after he tossed him through the air…"

"Okay, _now_ I have to start worrying. What did you do to the poor boy?"

"What _he_ did to _me_, you mean" Marcello replied "Mamma had bought a small fruit pie for me and Flavia, so we were sitting on a low wall to share it as Mamma was giving a letter to the couriers. When she wasn't looking, Edoardo seized me by the shirt from behind, made me fall on my back, and got the whole pie"

"Why didn't you tell your mother?"

Marcello smirked and cleared his throat.

"_Edoardo, Edoardo, had not even time to coo, before he could eat my snack, he was drenched in pigeon's poo_"

Papà chuckled.

"He was amazing, really" Flavia commented "I mean, as soon as he spotted Edoardo hiding somewhere, he found a pigeon coop above him, ran there, opened it, hit it with a stick and barked like a dog until all the pigeons had swarmed outside pooh-poohing themselves out of fear"

"I'd have done it in less time if you had helped me" Marcello replied

"I _can't climb a wall_ with a dress"

"You two are pests" Papà said standing up with a grin "Flavia, keep watching on your brother and everything will be alright. As for you, Marcello, try not to make Edoardo become your Vieri. Stand together whenever you can, and if you'll ever have friends, hold them close. Remember, you are each other's strength. And Marcello, what about teaching your sister what I taught you?"

"Papà, what about another song?"

Usually, Papà at that point bid him sweet dreams and put the candle out.

Not this time.

He sat on the bed again and started a song. Marcello could notice he was improvising. This was not one of his usual songs.

_Here stand two little terrors_

_So eager to get big_

_No villain ever will pull their hair_

'_Cause they belong to me_

* * *

><p><em>That was the last night he sang to us.<em>

_The very last night he was there with us._

_We were playing together, near the Duomo, in Firenze, trying to find the ghost of Lucrezia Borgia before she poisoned the apples our mother was going to buy._

_Stupid, isn't it? Two siblings with sticks against a nonexistent ghost._

_We didn't notice when our mother left the stands and find our father, still on the bench, not moving._

_We didn't notice until someone shouted in the crowd._

_Then Marcello dropped his stick, squinted and told me he didn't see Papà anymore._

_He looked around. He started running around, calling for him. He almost ran away from the square._

_When I finally managed to stop him, he was sobbing he couldn't find him._

_He could not stay quiet. He could not stay still._

_I had to hug him to make him stop, and yet he kept sobbing and crying._

_I wanted to cry, too._

_It felt just like if the ground had opened under our feet._

_It felt just like if the world had ended._

_How can you tell something so painful in just words? There are no words to tell what's like, in no language, in no WAY._

_He just had gone away, nowhere to be found. And he would have never come back._

_Never._

* * *

><p><em><strong>I know, I left a sad scene.<strong>_

_**I just hope you won't kill me for this. The next chapters won't end up so sad, promise.**_

_**Anyway, translation time.**_

_**Mamma = Mum (informal)**_

_**Papà = Dad (informal)**_

_**Ragazzi = kids**_

_**I don't think there is needed translation for "Assassino". But in Italian, the word "Assassino" is also a false friend for "murderer". This explains Marcello's question.**_

_**Botte = blows. With bare hands.**_

_**Casino = mess**_

_**Le penne = the feathers. "Leave the feathers behind" is one of the many ways you can say "die" in Italian. And, for people like Ezio, is quite a proper way to say it.**_

_**L'erba cattiva non muore mai = Bad weeds never die. You know, farmers keep pulling weeds, yet they always grow back. That's the case, just like with the Templars.**_

_**Che cosa? = What?**_

_**Vi voglio bene = "I love you" (used for affection, family love)**_

_**Molto bene = very well**_

_**Cane = dog**_

_**Bambini = children**_

_**Sì = yes**_

_**Visto? = have you seen?**_

_**Promesso = promise**_

_**By the way, Cathay is how a part of China was known in Renaissance Europe.**_


	3. Botte da orbi

_**This chapter was kinda hard to write, especially because I had to make some lines in "roman dialect", to highlight the fact the Italian that the Roman Assassins speak is slightly different from Flavia and Marcello's. So, the sentences you find in their parts are part Italian and part Roman dialect (I have relatives in Rome, so I know a few words).**_

_**By the way, the fact Flavia calls Machiavelli "Zio" is not so peculiar, considering that I grew up calling my parents' best friends "uncle" or "aunt" and I'm actually closer to some of them than to my parents' siblings – or at least some of them.**_

* * *

><p><em>The following days were each like a punch in the belly.<em>

_Nothing helped, not even Zio Niccolò's visits, not even Zia Claudia and our cousin Enrico coming over, along with two of Papà's former pupils. Our father was no more, fullstop._

_Not even Christmas felt the same, even if that very day was the most bearable for me and my brother, overall because of Zia Claudia._

_Some days later, the Assassins who had come to Fiesole, Beatrice and Paolo Simoni, announced they would have had to go back to Roma, where an important member of the Brotherhood would have reported the situation of the wars he had been into._

_Our mother decided we would have gone with Zia Claudia. She told us she would have joined us in Roma in a few weeks' time, and that clearing out for a while would have been the best thing for us._

_Until a few months before, if not me, Marcello at least, would have been overjoyed at the proposal of entering the Brotherhood of Roma. At the time, on the other hand, going away for us would have been like bidding definitely farewell to our father._

_Marcello was the first one to break into tears when our home became nothing more than a dot on the horizon, and he was not the only one._

_The memory I'll always have of that cold December morning is a carriage bumping on the road, my forehead pressed against Beatrice's tunic, she laying a hand on my shoulder, and holding Marcello with the other. Then, almost immediately later, Marcello and I are sitting in the carriage, side to side, and someone put a blanket on us._

_When they did not let us sleep, Beatrice and Paolo told us stories about the Order, on the important Assassins like Brutus, Altair Ibn-la'Ahad, Marco Polo, and Dante Alighieri. Well, the last two didn't do so much as Assassin, but then again…_

_At a point, Marcello tried to teach me to "look in colors" as he called it. He started laughing when I told him his hair was no longer red._

* * *

><p><em>Roma, January 1525<em>

Chapter 2

Botte da orbi

"You two are just like my sister and I as kids, you know?" Paolo commented "Our father was taken away by the Pope's guards when Beatrice was twelve and I was ten. Some years later, Beatrice saw again those four _cojoni_ and was about to give them a good tanning"

"What then?" Marcello asked

"Then they would have given _me_ a good tanning" Beatrice said in a bitter tone "Luckily, a bystander begged to differ. Not even the time to say "_annate ar diavolo_" and the four of them were all on the ground"

"_Botte da orbi_!" Marcello commented with a smirk

"Yeah, blows with a surprise" Paolo said flicking his wrist. A blade sprung out of his sleeve.

"We're getting down, guys" Enrico announced "We'd attract too much attention, all of us, on the carriage. We'll have to take different paths, and walk"

"_Ti pareva_" Marcello snorted, going back to his former dark mood

"Paolo, you take the kids down to _La Volpe Addormentata_" Beatrice announced "We'll talk to Giovanni and the others and we'll meet there to have lunch"

"You'll tell me about it there, won't you?" Paolo resolved taking Marcello's hand "Kids, pretty please, stay close to me, don't get far, don't talk too much, don't draw attention on you"

As they got off the carriage, Paolo led them through a gate, then in a maze of small streets and alleys, up ladders and down staircases.

"You need new clothes, Flavia" Paolo commented looking around, as if he was attempting to bypass something "You can't climb buildings dressed _like that_, and we would have saved time, that way"

Flavia nodded. Now she understood why Beatrice wore trousers.

They had just entered the ancient district when someone shouted. First, Flavia thought it was something nonsense, but when the voice spoke out again, she had to resolve it was really saying something.

"A' Pà! _A' Paolo_!"

The voice belonged to a young boy on a rooftop, with messy black hair and the face covered in dirt.

"Look who's here!" Paolo exclaimed with a grin as the kid let himself down and jumped on the ground.

"Who are these?"

It wasn't the first time Flavia saw beggars, not even street urchins. She had at least seen ten of them since she and Marcello had entered Rome.

But _this_ street urchin was different.

He didn't look like if he was about to clutch someone's clothes to get some money or food. He didn't have the others' desperate look. In fact, he didn't look like an underfed kid at all. He just was dirty and ragged, and had a chipped tooth. His dark hair and tanned skin suggested southern origins.

And he_ stared_.

"What's the matter with you?" Marcello asked him with a scowl "It's my sister, the girl you're staring at!"

"I look at anyone I want to, _testa de cazzo_!"

"What did you say about my head?" Marcello asked holding up his fists

"Marcello, Alessio, _abbasta_!" Paolo shouted standing between them and holding the urchin back "Alessio, these are Flavia and Marcello. They're novices of the Guild. Flavia and Marcello, this is Alessio, not one of us, but a great helper"

"Why aren't you letting him in?" Flavia asked Paolo

"We did let him in. He doesn't want to" Paolo replied as Marcello looked daggers at Alessio "He ran from an orphanage. He doesn't want to tell us what the monks did to him, but it must be bad, if he prefers the streets to the Guild"

"I told Cosimo" Alessio intervened

"Just so he could send Ciro to sock them one" Paolo resolved "Anyway, Alessio, did you meet Pasquino last night?"

Alessio nodded.

"We're heading to the tavern. You can come and eat, and I think Berta will let you have a bath if you want to"

Alessio nodded again.

"Don't you ever _speak_?" Marcello asked him

"Marcello!" Paolo scolded him

"You must forgive him" Flavia explained as Alessio joined them "We left our home after our father…"

"What did he do to you?" Alessio asked, worried

"He _died_, you _idiota_" Marcello pushing him aside "He left us like yours did"

"Marcello, that was not the case"

"What was the case then? You trumpeting the whole thing?"

"I didn't recall you seeing red"

"I can believe it. _He_ is red" Alessio intervened raising an eyebrow

"At least I did know my father"

"_Senti, a' Marcè_. What did I do? My father, too, was taken away by _Comare Secca_"

"_Comare Secca_?"

"Death, little one" Paolo explained "Alessio, try to mind your language when you're with them, all right?"

"And don't call me red or anything!" Marcello added

"_Aaaaah_. Got it _now_" Alessio said with a grin "Easy, Marcè, your hair may be red but I'm a bastard. On the island there are people like you and people like me"

"The island is the Headquarters" Paolo explained "Wait and see, you won't find the welcome you had in Fiesole for sure. No… whatsisname, Edoardo?"

Marcello nodded.

"That's it, you can forget that ass" Paolo resolved "Here everyone will get along with you for sure"

Alessio went a few steps forward, turning his look in fits and starts like a bird of prey.

"The way is clear!" he announced Paolo

"Big deal, Alessio, the Borgia have lost Roma before you were born" Paolo commented with a grin

"Those _cojoni_ who had me are still around" Alessio replied as his smile turned bitter

They had arrived in a clear area, where the highest building was a lone tavern. Even if she had never seen it before, Flavia had heard about it. La Volpe Addormentata.

Despite the former owner's death, the place had kept its old name and purpose after passing in the hands of Giampiero Donati and his wife Berta.

"I suppose I'll have to enter the tub" Alessio snorted once inside

"Better a bath than lice" Paolo commented pushing him forward "Flavia, Marcello, you'd better wash yourselves, too"

About an hour later, the three of them were in the main hall again, Alessio didn't even seem to have _ever_ been in the streets, and Flavia was wearing her own trousers for the first time.

"You look good, you know?" was Alessio's first comment

"You too" Flavia answered, grinning

"Oh… these clothes?" Alessio asked, shrugging "As soon as I'm out again, I'll have mine back. If the other kids see me like this, they'll steal them for sure. They're not even mine, anyway. They're the innkeeper's bro's. When he was my age"

"You mean Enrico?" Marcello asked

"_In persona_. Do you know him?"

"It's obvious we know him, he's our cousin" Flavia said

"Wait… your cousin? So… Donna Claudia is _tu' zzia_?"

"Sì"

"You mean your father was Donna Claudia's bro? The guy who hung up his blades to grow a vineyard?"

"_Ma no, guarda_" Marcello intervened crossing his arms

Alessio opened his mouth to say something, then he shut it, then turned his look from Marcello to Flavia.

Probably, he _would_ have said something, but the door opened, revealing about a dozen of people.

As it seemed, Alessio knew everyone, because as soon as the first passed near him, he raised his hand to greet, while Flavia could recognize only Zia Claudia, Enrico, Giampiero and Beatrice.

"Look at who's here!" Giampiero exclaimed noticing them and hugging Marcello "So, _ragazzi_, how was the journey?" he asked, hugging Flavia

"They have slept through most of it. It just seemed like they had holed up" Enrico commented "By the way… _Giovanni_!" he called, gesturing to one of the men Flavia did not recognize

Giovanni was a man slightly older than Enrico, dressed in black, with short, dark curly hair, short mustache and the jaw covered in stubble. However, what struck Flavia was his muscular build and the broadsword he carried.

That was not "just Giovanni". He was Giovanni _dalle Bande Nere_, the living legend on every Florentine's lips.

"What's up, Enrico?" Giovanni asked stepping forward

"Fellow countrymen of yours, I suppose" Enrico explained as Alessio stepped backwards "My two cousins, Flavia and Marcello Auditore"

"Auditore, huh?" Giovanni asked shaking vigorously Marcello's hand "Nice to meet you, eaglet. Giovanni de' Medici"

"The pleasure is all mine, _messere_"

"Your father helped my family more than once. I wish I could have paid that debt. And _don't_ call me _messere_. It's just Giovanni"

Another man stepped forward, shook Flavia and Marcello's hands and introduced himself as Cosimo Ricoveri, Master of Rome.

"Your father saved my life from Borgia guards when I wasn't much more than a boy" he explained "I didn't even hope to meet you, let alone being your mentor. I'm sure you'll make the Brotherhood proud"

Two more Assassins, Rosa and Francesco, stepped forward and introduced themselves.

"You're your father's _bella copia_, little one" Rosa commented tousling Marcello's hair.

Alessio, who had nestled in a corner, as the introductions came to an end, gave a very loud whistle that Flavia didn't believe him able to do, not with half a front tooth missing.

It was just like if something in the air had broken.

Enrico started laughing.

Giampiero and Paolo did the same, quickly followed by Giovanni, Francesco and Beatrice.

In a few moments, the room was filled with laughter.

When the sound of laughter died off, Flavia noticed that, as they were laughing, Marcello had burst out in tears: now he was sitting on Rosa's lap, and she was patting his back and telling him it was all right.

"It must have been too much for him" Enrico commented "Stand back, folks. Stand back. Rosa, leave him to me, I'll do it"

He took Marcello's hand and made him stand, drying his tears with a sleeve of his shirt.

"Come on, a man does not weep" he told him, raising his chin with a finger "What's wrong? You can tell me"

"It all looks… it all looks like a family" Marcello stuttered gesturing at the bystanders with both hands "And… Papà did all this…"

He didn't finish the sentence: he had another sob and started weeping again.

"Want to have a walk, eaglet?" Giovanni proposed him

Marcello dried his face on a sleeve and eyed Giovanni up and down, keeping his eyes squinted. Flavia didn't need to ask to understand her little brother was trying to find out if he could trust Giovanni.

"Good, he has the old ace in the hole" Rosa commented as Marcello nodded to Giovanni

"_Allora andiamo_. Claudia, we'll be back _long_ before dark. And if the little one trusts, I don't know why you should not"

"I'm not leaving you alone with my nephew" Zia Claudia replied "For what I've heard about you, I wouldn't be surprised if you forced him to make a Leap of Faith in the Tiber river without even making sure he knows how to swim"

"I _do know_ how to swim" Marcello intervened

"_Madre_…" Giampiero protested "You should trust him this time. I know he's not Bartolomeo, but…"

Zia Claudia turned her look from Giampiero, to Marcello, to Giovanni.

Her gaze stopped on Giovanni.

"If he comes back with a single scratch, I won't give a damn to who you are, _I'll knock the stuffing out of you_"

* * *

><p>"Your aunt is a <em>belva<em>, eaglet"

"You say?" Marcello asked climbing on a low wall "I had never seen her acting that way before"

"You've never been in Roma before, have you?"

Marcello nodded as he continued walking on the low wall while Giovanni walked alongside him on the ground.

"Well, if you want to know a family, you must be a part of it. She makes threats at least thirty times a day, and I don't even spend here the whole year. I guess you'll be living with her, now, won't you?"

Marcello jumped over a gap in the wall and turned to the condottiero, who had stayed a bit behind.

"Just until Mamma isn't here. She's looking for people to take care of the villa, so she can buy a house here"

A bitter smile appeared on Giovanni's face.

"My mother died when I was your age" he said, leaning against the wall "I don't even remember my father's face, I wasn't even one year old when he died. The only thing that he really gave me was his name, and believe me, your father's name is the worst burden you can carry. In your case, just the family name can make people turn when they hear it… it's like if people believe in some twisted way you'll be like him, maybe even better"

"Papà once told me a friend of his in Constantinople started calling him Marcello at a point to avoid him getting caught by a Templar" Marcello said, smiling "So... in some way, I have Papà's fake name but it's true for me"

Giovanni chuckled.

"Better this way. You may have an important surname, but the name is your own" commented as Marcello sat down "Sometimes I would have liked to get a bit of revenge on my mother because she gave me my father's name. _Le volevo bene_, don't let me be misunderstood. All I am today, it's because of her"

"Like Papà for me" Marcello said tracing circles on the stones with his index finger "Zia Claudia says I must be strong, but I can't do it. I want to see him again. I don't even remember his voice anymore"

"It's quite likely you will have his same voice in a few years" said Giovanni "The tone seems the same, I met your father when I was a kid sometimes"

"Really?"

"Well, you still peep wonderfully, but in two years you should speak like a man" Giovanni resolved standing up straight "Talking about being a man, I promised your aunt you would not do any kind of leap, but do you feel like learning how to wield a sword?"

Marcello had been trying to slowly climb down the low wall, but the proposal made him flinch and he lost his grip. He would have fallen on the ground if Giovanni didn't catch him in midair.

"Easy, eaglet, if you graze your knees I'm dead"

Giovanni led Marcello to what seemed a storehouse on an island on the Tiber river. There was a sort of enclosed courtyard against one of the storehouse walls, and it seemed quite recently built.

In a corner, two barrels, and in both of them there was a certain number of swords.

"In the one on the left there are wooden swords. You start with those" Giovanni explained pointing at the barrel he was talking about "Get two of them and pass me one. Let's start!"

* * *

><p>"So, how was your walk?"<p>

"I don't think it was wise leaving him alone" Marcello commented throwing himself on one of the three beds in the room they had been given "As I was coming up, Zia had just begun rapping him on the knuckles. Just because my wrists had some scratches on them. My _wrists_, Flavia, just the wrists!" he repeated, holding up his right arm, which actually was covered in small scratches from the back of the hand to the middle of the forearm

"Well, Giovanni is a mercenary, he's sturdy and he also seems quite reckless. Maybe Zia thinks he got carried away with you"

"_She_ got carried away" Marcello replied "I mean, we should even stay with a master now. We're not _mocciosi_ anymore. She can't…"

The door opened all of a sudden as Alessio entered the doorway, still wearing his "good clothes" and with an uncomplaining look on his face.

"Your aunt wants me to stay here tonight" he snorted with an annoyed voice "She says it's going to snow and I could die of cold outside"

"It's freezing cold indeed, out there" Marcello commented

"Can I stay with you two? Donna Claudia said I can, but…"

"As you want" Marcello said shrugging and kicking off his boots "By the way, why us?"

"You're the old Mentore's children" Alessio explained "_Nun ve tocca nessuno._ If I'm with you, I'm sitting pretty. Even Giovanni dalle Bande Nere behaves, with you around"

"Why, how does he act when we're not around?" Marcello asked, puzzled

"I heard he has a small kid, about five years old, I think. When the kid was a baby, Giovanni told the nurse to drop him from a balcony" Alessio said sitting on the bed

Flavia stared at Marcello, outraged.

"You said he could be trusted!" she burst out

"I saw him blue. He could be certainly trusted" Marcello replied

"And I haven't finished" Alessio continued "He caught the kid in midair. And when he found himself in his father's arms, the little one started laughing. Not a scratch"

"By the way" Marcello asked "what's a leap of faith?"

Alessio suppressed a laugh.

"Sounds funny, you asking me" he said "You, the Mentore's son. The leap of faith is what you need to know how to do when you finish the training. First they mark your ring finger with hot tongs… then they take you on the highest point of the Headquarters and _splash_, they make you dive in the river"

He took off his shoes, climbed on a table near the bed, and threw himself on the mattress, landing on his stomach.

"Like _this_" he resolved, hauling himself on his arms

"You seem to know a lot about that" commented Marcello

"I've seen the Assassins doing it from the riverside. One by one" Alessio smirked "Even your friend Giovanni, and your cousin Enrico, some years ago. I would run off the friary just to see them every night"

"You like this life" Flavia told him "You don't deny it. You like it. You could leave behind the hunger, the cold and the risk of losing the few things you have to other urchins… and you won't do it. Why?"

"I don't trust grown-ups. Better alone than with them"

"Didn't you trust your parents? Don't you remember anything of them?" Marcello asked

Alessio looked down and shook his head in denial.

"Maybe. Pieces" he said glancing up again "I just remember my father did not smile a lot. Except with me. My mother… nothing. Then, I only remember someone's scared voice, then blood, too much blood… and then nothing. In all my other memories, there are friars who tell me what I must do and what I must not do, and send me to bed without dinner because I had forgotten the prayers and crap like that. In one of those nights, I was six, I ran from a window and arrived to the river. I saw those people jumping off towers, showing no fear, and I realized that…"

"That was the life you wanted?" Flavia asked "It's not too late. Before they sent us here I heard tomorrow the Master Assassins will choose their understudies. Give your name and step forward. _Insomma_, you're still on time, how old are you?"

"Eleven"

"That's the point, you're as old as I am, and I'm more than certain someone will call my name…"

"Uhhh, _that's for sure_" Alessio grinned "Vecellio is going to choose you, sure as hell, your old man was his mentor"

"Did someone tell something about me?" Marcello asked

"Rosa says you should not even be here. She said that if you weep like that…"

Marcello suddenly blushed.

"I'm not a crybaby!"

"And I'm a _pisciasotto_, so no master for me" Alessio resolved pulling the blankets over himself "Night"

* * *

><p><em>We found no way to win over him.<em>

_The next morning, Giampiero woke us up early and led us to the Headquarters. There were already other kids, they kinda gave us dirty looks, they thought for sure "Who are these?". There was a certain rivalry in being taken by a teacher, the other kids kept showing off in one or another way, to be called by the best._

_I felt out of place. Those kids probably had known each other for months, maybe years, on the other hand, Marcello and I were the upstarts._

_But their attention was taken by something else when…_

* * *

><p>"Let's try not to make this last too long, I have to leave for Pavia just today"<p>

The tall kid Flavia was standing next to, Daniele, if she did remember well, goggled and whispered something to the boy near him, something Flavia quickly recognized as "_Ammazza, Giovanni de'Medici wants to get an apprentice!_"

The man who had just entered the hall really was Giovanni dalle Bande Nere, with his broadsword and his armor. The kids' murmurs became louder, until Cosimo gestured to make them silent.

"If someone calls your name, you'll join your new mentor. The ones who will not be called today are begged to stay disciplined. You won't show yourselves worthy of another step in your training if you start whimpering like crybabies"

There were ten Assassins ready to ask for an apprentice, and the children in the Hall were about twenty.

Half of them was bound to keep waiting.

The first to step forward was a veteran Cosimo introduced as Salvatore Sallucci.

Flavia remembered that name: he was _Salvo_, one of the twelve youngsters Papà had trained.

"Bianca Ricci?" Salvatore called

A twelve-years-old girl left the line and joined her new master.

Some kids clapped.

After Piero Piacentini took Michele Campana, Nino Nastagio took Alessandro Romano, and Zita Zanovelli called Checco Savona, Francesco Vecellio stepped forward.

"Flavia Auditore!"

Silence fell in the hall, followed by murmurs.

Then Daniele clapped, and he was imitated by his friends. Some shy cheers could be heard. Checco Savona whistled.

As Flavia joined her master, the others stared at Marcello, who suddenly blushed.

It just seemed everyone wanted to ask, without speaking, the question "_So you're an Auditore too?_"

"Daniele Sciarra" had not time to think about it, as Ciro Cavallari called him in no time. Three more kids, Simona, Antonio and Vito, were called by as many Assassins. Then, Giovanni dalle Bande Nere moved forward.

"Oh, I think I know what's happening now" Bianca intervened "Say bye-bye to your brother, Flavia… if he _is_ your brother"

Flavia had not even the time to say Marcello _was_ her brother, younger brother in the bargain, when Giovanni called him.

The applause for Marcello was the loudest, even if was mostly done by the kids who already had been chosen. The remaining nine or ten were clapping only out of respect, it could be easily seen on their disappointed faces.

Marcello made a coy smile and crossed the room, joining the small group of the "happy few" near the masters.

"I didn't ask for it" he told Flavia raising his hands

Francesco frowned at Giovanni. Anything he wanted to tell him, Flavia could only guess, but she was pretty sure it had to do with the condottiero's bad name.

As it seemed, Cosimo Ricoveri had been chosen to be the Master of Rome because he could foresee that kind of situation and knew how to deal with it, as before any of the two Assassins could say or do a thing, he stood between them looking daggers first at one and then at the other.

"We're already enough _nella merda_, thanks, we don't need to be at each other's throat!" he told the two masters "Francesco, you should trust Giovanni, especially when Machiavelli says he could be the only one who could defend from the imperial troops. As far as _you_'re concerned, Giovanni, if I hear you let be harmed a single hair from the boy's head, I don't care if that sword was given you by the Mentore or by God himself, I don't care if you're tied to the Pope's apron strings, I'll get you and make a carpet with your scalp!"

Francesco clenched a fist and put the other hand on Flavia's shoulder, but Giovanni, who had even been the one who had scolded most heavily, did nothing but putting an arm on Marcello's shoulders and promising Cosimo he would have kept him well away from any danger.

"Who is that? What has happened to the captain?" Flavia heard Michele whispering to Alessandro

"I heard you!" Giovanni smirked as the two kids stepped backwards in their mentors' direction on instinct "Never heard about life debts, you two?"

Michele and Alessandro stayed quiet anyway. As far as Flavia had understood, Giovanni dalle Bande Nere was a man who did not only command respect, but struck _terror_ into some people.

"Shall I get my stuff?" Marcello asked, rubbing a foot on the floor

"There's no need to, I made someone pack up for you" Giovanni answered "Now, I'm warning you, this is not going to be a saunter at the Duomo. Are you sure you want to start now? I can always come back for you next year"

Marcello tried to frown, or at least to do a tough look.

It was plain as day that Giovanni did not want to discourage him, _on the contrary_, he was trying to make him even more determined.

* * *

><p><em>At the time, I didn't know Giovanni's real purposes.<em>

_I didn't know he had met my father more than once, nor that he was taking care of Marcello in his memory._

_What I knew was, Marcello worshipped him. All in all, Giovanni could understand him. He would have never replaced our father, but Marcello considered him as… I don't know, an older brother, an uncle, someone who could have helped him._

_He said he would have gone with him._

_They left that very day._

* * *

><p><em><strong>The names of the Brotherhood kids are a tribute to the actors of groups 7-12 and 13-21 of the acting company I'm in. Giovanni de'Medici  dalle Bande Nere (that would mean "of the Black Bands") really existed, but I wouldn't look for his name on Wikipedia, it would be a plot spoiler for this story.**_

_**Cosimo Ricoveri is the "Mino Ricoveri" that maybe some of you saved in Brotherhood. Yup, "Mino" is a diminutive of names like Cosimo, or at least so I've read in a book…**_

_**Translation time!**_

_**Cojoni = assholes**_

_**Annate ar diavolo = go to Hell**_

_**Botte da orbi = blind man's blows. A sentence quite common in Tuscany to say "a good thrashing"**_

_**Ti pareva = who would have thought it!**_

_**A' Pa'! A' Paolo! = Hey, Paolo!**_

_**Testa de cazzo = d!ckhead**_

_**Abbasta = shut up**_

_**Idiota = idiot**_

_**Senti, a' Marcè = Listen, Marcello**_

_**Comare Secca = Dry Lady = Death (In both Italian language and Roman dialect, Death is a "she")**_

_**In persona = himself, that very person**_

_**Tu'zzia = your aunt**_

_**Ma no, guarda = You don't say**_

_**Bella copia = fair copy**_

_**Allora andiamo = let's go then**_

_**Madre = mother**_

_**Belva = ferocious animal**_

_**Le volevo bene = I loved her. Still "family love"**_

_**Mocciosi = brats**_

_**Nun ve tocca nessuno = No one would harm you**_

_**Insomma = all in all**_

_**Pisciasotto = poltroon**_

_**Ammazza = in Roman dialect, is one of the ways to say "bloody hell" or such**_

_**Nella merda = in deep sh…**_


	4. The artist, the soldier and the poet

_**This chapter was not too hard to write, but I'm stuck on books – Genetics books, and they have nothing to do with the Animus, unluckily – and I have to repeat an exam because, even if I passed it, I thought 23/30 was a score too low for my favorite subject and I rejected the mark.**_

_**Then again, I'm not just writing this. This is my very first fanfiction I'm writing in parallel in two languages, English and Italian. So usually I first write a chapter in one of the two languages, and as I translate it, I correct some of the mistakes I made. And I do make mistakes, especially when I'm also trying to stick to real history. I don't really know how I did this in about a week, when in other stories I wrote it took a week to write a chapter in just one language.**_

_**By the way…**_

* * *

><p><em>Ducato di Milano, January the 11th, 1525<em>

_Dear Flavia,_

_I can only write a few lines because I don't have much time._

_We're not so far from Milano, as far as I've understood, the food makes me sick and it's freezing cold, but no one really complains, especially when Giovanni is around, so I stay quiet too._

_Some of the soldiers don't believe I can write, they think I'm pretending. I had a bet with them that if one of them picks a sheet from the desk of Messer Pietro, an Assassin and Giovanni's friend, I'll read out loud what's written on it. I didn't bet money, calm down, they only say that if I lied they'll cover my clothes in tar and feathers, even if I don't think they're serious._

_I just hope Messer Pietro's handwriting is not bad, or I'm screwed._

_Now I have to give the letter to the courier, he says he must be in Roma as soon as possible so he can bring news of a certain Brutus._

_But… wasn't Brutus Julius Caesar's murderer?_

_A hug._

_Marcello_

* * *

><p>Chapter 3<p>

The artist, the soldier and the poet

_Roma, January the 15th, 1525_

"_Assassino! Assassino!_"

A step away from Flavia's back, Daniele flinched and swore.

He had lost again.

It was a game the kids of the Brotherhood played very often, especially when they were supposed to stay outside.

Everyone was given a folded piece of paper, who found the one with an "A" was the Assassin, who found the one with a cross was the Templar, and the others were the bystanders.

The Assassin had to give a slap on the Templar's back without the latter or the bystanders noticing. The Templar had to stay as far as he or she could from the Assassin. If the Assassin patted by mistake a bystander's back, the bystander had to sit on the ground, even if some of the kids flopped down to show off, and that increased the Assassin's chances of being noticed.

It was a game invented by the very Francesco Vecellio to train the kids in the open air. People were convinced it was something completely invented by the kids, chuckled and kept going their own way without suspecting in any way that those "innocent children" were Assassins for real.

"Bah" Daniele commented leaning against the wall "Not a single thing right today"

"Shall we have another go?" asked Vito, who in the last ten days had not played neither as Assassin, nor as Templar.

"We'd better not, it's almost noon" Flavia said sitting on the nearest bench

"Still worried for your brother?" Bianca asked sitting near her "He must be still traveling, don't worry. And you can tell anything about Giovanni dalle Bande Nere, but not that he won't keep a promise"

People kept coming and going for their own business, and they almost did not notice the group of children at the roadside. One by one, heading to different entrances, the apprentice headed to the Headquarters, but in the Romans' eyes they were nothing but kids of the place, going home one after the other.

In the street, only Daniele, Bianca, and Flavia had remained when Alessio dropped from a low rooftop and landed like a cat on the bench. He was still wearing the rags Flavia had seen on him when she had met him, and he looked like if he was about to freeze to death.

"_Ancora tu_?" Daniele burst out scowling at Alessio "Make up your mind, you get in or you scram!"

"Cosimo begs to differ, as no one of you has enough guts to give Pasquino his messages" Alessio replied "And you're two years older than me. Ha!"

Daniele was up to reply something, but Bianca gestured him to go back to Headquarters.

"Any messages for the Master?" Bianca asked Alessio

"No, but one for Flavia" Alessio said rubbing his arms with his hands "Francesco is looking for you. Got to take you to him"

"Where? At the usual place or at his place?"

"_Vieni!_" Alessio urged her grabbing her wrist. Despite Flavia knew the boy, the fact he was very dirty, or at least his hands were, made her wince instinctively, and Alessio let her go, his face even more red than it already was for the cold.

"Sorry" he apologized, cleaning his hands the best he could and setting forth at a fast pace.

"No, it's nothing, it's my fault" Flavia told him walking by his side "Where's Francesco?"

"You follow me. I'm taking you where he is"

For all time, he had kept his head low, and only quickening her pace and bending over to look at him from below, Flavia noticed his right eye was bruised.

"What happened?"

"Nothing, I got hurt. Never happened to you?"

"The last time I saw something like that…" Flavia said as Alessio stepped up again "Marcello got a fist in his face because he called a certain Edoardo a swine"

"Sto bene, Fla', _sto bene_. I didn't call anyone a swine"

"Listen, I can believe you broke your tooth on a stairway, but the only thing that can make an eye black is five clenched fingers. Who did it?"

"Nobody"

"_Sì, nessuno_. I'd believe you more if you told me it was Ulysses!"

"Ulysses?"

"Forget it. Who. Did. That. To. You?"

Alessio stayed silent and lowered his head again, quickening his pace even more.

They had been walking for at least half an hour when Alessio gestured her to take an alley, cross a building site and pushed her behind a pile of blocks of marble.

Flavia would have recognized the huge in-progress building above them even without thinking twice, because since she had entered Roma she had heard abundantly buzzing about it.

San Pietro.

"Thanks a lot, Alessio. You can go at my place, if you want to eat, just ask the housekeeper" Francesco said popping out from behind a corner

"No, thanks" Alessio said trying to get away, but Flavia seized him by the collar and tried to keep him still.

"Messer Francesco, Alessio has been beaten up"

"Not true!"

"What happened, then?"

"I fell…"

"If you had really fallen, young man, at most you would have broken your nose or another tooth" Francesco said getting closer "Flavia is right, the only thing that could have caused you such a bruise is a fist or a rock. Which one?"

Alessio stayed silent.

"Listen, you're not the first kid I'd have to pull out of a sticky situation. The first now is one of the best in the Order. And don't say you don't want to, we both know that _non è così_"

He made a pause.

"It's still about Ettore, isn't it?"

Alessio nodded.

"Go at Piero and Candida's place. Let Candida look at that eye. We'll meet there"

"At Piacentini's?" Alessio asked

"Yes, that's right, them. If they ask you questions, tell 'em I sent you"

Alessio started a rush and vanished in a few moments. Francesco sighed.

"I just hope he'll go" he told Flavia "The only person who can make him reason is your aunt"

"Who was the other kid you were talking about?" Flavia asked

"My master's son" Francesco explained "My _first_ master, Perotto, I mean. After a series of accidents, he ended up with his uncle, a man of the worst depravity ever, and as soon as I was sure he was really there, I bent over backwards to let him run away from home. Now he's twenty-six years old, he's in Basel for some inquiries, and he has outstripped his father. As he's called Giovanni, usually we call him Brutus to tell him apart from Medici, also because they have the same age. But I didn't call you to tell you this"

The few masons in the building site were heading home for the midday meal. Francesco sat on a block of marble and gestured to Flavia to do the same.

"First, early this morning a courier arrived, with news from both Giovanni Borgia and Giovanni de' Medici, as he met the Bande Nere on the way from Basel. Your little brother trusted him with a letter" Francesco started getting a folded sheet out of his purse "Just, don't read it now, I've got something else to show you"

Flavia, who was already unfolding the sheet to recognize Marcello's crooked handwriting, folded the letter again and clutched it in her hand.

"Put it in your belt pouch, we have to move"

As they crossed the rest of the building site, Flavia noticed that Francesco, oddly, was keeping his hood down, and had a bag on his shoulders. His clothes, too, seemed dirtier than usual. Stained in paint.

"Oh, don't worry and act normally" Francesco said looking back with a grin "I can come and go around here, I'm more known as an artist than as a you-know-what. As for you… I'm your godfather, _no_?"

Initially, Flavia thought Francesco was going barmy, then she understood he was trying to make her understand how she would have had to play along if someone asked them questions.

She tried to open Marcello's letter as they were walking, but she had barely arrived at the point in which her little brother complained about the food when Francesco noticed her.

"Flavia, I told you later. I have a brother and three sisters, and yet I'm giving priority to you in these days. In the bargain, my brother will get _married_ in some months!"

"Where's your brother now? In your town?"

"No, we both left Pieve di Cadore a long time ago. He works in Venezia… and he's a better painter than me for sure. Your mother knows him… we both attended your parents' wedding, and the first thing he did was not wish them all the best but a portrait proposal" Francesco guffawed "Always like that, good old Tiziano. He won't change his spots"

They had arrived at the entrance of one of the many buildings in the complex of San Pietro, an edifice not too big and quite plain-looking.

There was a small door, watched by two Swiss Guards. Francesco quickly strode towards them and asked them to enter.

"Who are you?" one of them, a brute with a heavy German accent, asked.

"Francesco Vecellio da Pieve. I'm here to make some sketches for my brother Tiziano"

"How can I believe you're not lying?"

"I have powerful friends" Francesco raised his eyebrow "You know Giovanni de' Medici, right? His Holiness's second cousin. If I could not obtain the permission to enter the chapel…"

"Anyone can say he knows Giovanni de' Medici, but do you have a proof of it?"

"Is this enough?" Francesco asked the guard handing him a parchment with the crest of the six balls.

The guard stuttered an apology and stepped backwards, letting Francesco and Flavia enter the building.

"But how…?" Flavia whispered, as they entered a long hallway from the entrance room they were in

"I asked him before he left" Francesco murmured "I would have put a word against him with Ariosto if he had not given me a safe-conduct for this place"

"Why did you need it?"

"If I had had it some years ago, Leo X would have never have been poisoned. I've seen too many poisons in my life, a friend of mine was an expert with them. I would have recognized one for sure. But at the moment, I'll need it for something else… oh, _bene_, no one's around"

From the hallway, they had arrived into what seemed the interior of a church, which had nothing to see with the outer side's plainness.

Despite it was not embellished with many sculptures or precious materials, the simple fact the wall were completely frescoed made it majestic.

"_Eh già_. Have you seen the paintings on the ceiling?" Francesco said pointing at them "Another _geniaccio_ of your land, Michelangelo Buonarroti. Not exactly the friendliest person in the world, but he makes up for the lack of social life with his skills"

"Why did you take me here, Messer Francesco?"

"Can you erase that "Messere", please? Say that again"

"Why did you take me here?"

"For a lesson" Francesco said pulling out of his bag a piece of paper and a charcoal pencil and copying one of the figures on the ceiling "You don't mind if I draw, do you? They'll ask for me to show the drawings when we get out for sure"

He traced a few lines, sitting on a step near the altar with Flavia by his side, then he gestured to Flavia to look up.

"Someone would say Michelangelo's works are haphazard, the naked up there are raunchy, things of this kind. But in your opinion, the ceiling is better blank or like this?"

"I like it this way" Flavia answered with a grin

"_This_ is the point, _piccola_. Variety is the spice of life. A frescoed ceiling looks better than a plain one. But there's always someone thinking… for example, too much yellow, too much red, too much blue… Germans are a pain in the neck, Frenchmen make me sick, the King of England farts, the Sultan Suleiman snores, there are sixty-six Assassins in Assisi…"

Flavia chuckled.

"Someone would say that if the King of England didn't fart, the Sultan didn't snore, and someone assassinated the sixty-six Assassins of Assisi, the world would be a better place, but in reality, it would be like turning yellow, red and blue into grey… got it?"

"Sì"

"And if this ceiling was grey, there would have been no reason why I should have asked Giovanni de' Medici a safe-conduct to come here and study the paintings, _no_?"

"I don't think so!"

"In plain Italian, this is the reason why Assassins exist. Templars think that if they put the whole world on the same level, any kind of war could be avoided. But it's a price too high. You cannot sacrifice every person's free will for a so-called perfect world. You need to teach peace, not to force it. The yellow must stay in the place of yellow, the red in its place and the blue too, the King of England must go to the privy more often and the Sultan must blow his nose before going to bed. In brief, respect is the key"

"What about the Assisi Assassins?" Flavia joked

"Well…" Francesco muttered "They're not sixty-six. Assisi is not a big town, I'd be surprised if they were more than six!"

* * *

><p><em>Dear Marcello,<em>

_Next time you write me a letter don't wait for the courier to arrive, just write it and WHEN the courier arrives you'll have it ready!_

_Mamma isn't here yet, but Giampiero sent her a letter to explain the situation, so she knows where you are._

_Make sure you win that bet, and don't make another, tar won't get off your clothes so easily._

_Anyway, Brutus is just a codename, his real name is Giovanni Borgia, he's the son of Francesco's first master (he has his mother's family name) and he's keeping an eye on the alchemists of Basel. Yes, he's the nephew of that Cesare of great depravity who had a date with gravity, no, he won't betray the Brotherhood, he ran away from home when he was a kid and he hated his uncle._

_As I'm writing, it has started snowing. I'm at the house of one of Papà's old students, Piero Piacentini (Sì, Piero, what a coincidence!), and of his wife Candida. Alessio is here with me, as it seems the other street urchins have beaten him up, and in Francesco's opinion this is the last straw. It all began when I noticed he had a black eye, and THAT was nothing, compared to everything else! Candida made him remove shirt and pants, and he was full of bruises and gashes under them. When she said in her opinion he even had a broken knucklebone, I understood why he let go my wrist when I barely moved today. A broken bone must hurt like hell, I would have expected him to cry._

_In the end, Candida shoved Alessio in a tub, lent him some of her son's clothes (you remember Vito, don't you? He was near you when the masters chose us) and took him to the nearest surgeon._

_Francesco says Alessio has ghosts in his past, and it's for this he does not want to become an Assassin. But working for the Brotherhood anyway, he eats enough, he survives to the coldest nights, he doesn't fall ill so often, and if he does, Zia Claudia and Berta nurse him back to health. And the other urchins don't like this._

_I'm worried for him. The things he does to carry on make him an enemy towards his peers, and the Brotherhood could never help all of them. Can you imagine what will happen if they see him bandaged?_

_I just hope he makes up his mind before they really hurt him bad, and that he makes the right decision._

_I don't know how long the war will last, but I beg you to stay out of trouble._

_Papà wanted us to stay together, and I really hope you come back soon._

_Take care,_

_Flavia_

* * *

><p><em>Camp of Bande Nere, January the 25th, 1525<em>

"Who's writing to you, little one?"

Marcello folded the letter and stuffed it under his clothes, as he had done… it seemed _a lifetime_ before… with Papà's old poster.

"My sister. Older. She's called Flavia"

The soldier who had spoken to him was called Sergio and was quite a good person.

Good person, Giovanni said, but terrible guard.

He had assigned Marcello a chore: punish him, making him appear _ridiculous_. He had made Marcello write on a piece of paper "Kick my butt, I can't stand guard", and had made him stick the sheet on Sergio's back without the latter noticing.

For Marcello's luck, Sergio, like most of the soldiers, could not read, and in the bargain he underestimated him a lot.

All he had had to do was getting close to him from the rear while he was eating his lunch, quickly stick the sign on his back – he had covered the blank side in pine resin – and take the nearest empty seat, pretending to turn up his nose at the soup as always.

Two of the soldiers, at the moment, were whispering behind Sergio's shoulders, and Marcello was certain at least one of them was able to read.

"What's going on?" Sergio asked, turning (and causing some more soldiers' laughter)

"The commander's looking for Marcello" one of the two soldiers said

One of the things Marcello liked about his permanence in the Bande Nere was the fact Giovanni had clarified he was one of them. Not "the kid". Not someone out of place, but a member of the Bande.

The other soldiers referred to him by name (only Giovanni called him "eaglet" sometimes, but Giovanni was the master and that, for him, was more than permitted), he was often asked to read out loud – or write – their letters, in exchange for a fencing or shooting lesson, or, if it really was his day, some extra food.

Giovanni got mad and shouted for a nothing, but when it happened, there was always Messer Pietro at Marcello's side.

Or better, Marcello called him Messer Pietro, but just because he did not know his family name. As far as he had understood, he was a poet as well as an Assassin, but after a glance at his papers, he had found so many profanities in them he had dropped them before he could say "Damn".

Marcello had started seeing him with Giovanni since they had left, and he had a clear suspect Zia Claudia had asked Messer Pietro to go with them. Whatever had been the reason, Messer Pietro and Giovanni had become friends, and if Giovanni instructed Marcello in the "profession of arms", Messer Pietro kept him on books one hour a day.

"Salve Giovanni, Messer Pietro" Marcello greeted entering in the commander's tent, where the two were discussing at a table covered in maps and different-colored wooden figurines.

"Here comes our little friend!" Giovanni announced seizing him by the shoulders and tousling his hair "Hello to you too, eaglet. Did you do what I asked?"

"_Signorsì, signore_"

Giovanni chuckled and patted him twice on the back, then he took him outside again.

"Hood up, little one. If they don't know who we are, it's so much the better" said Giovanni giving a tug at the rear of Marcello's tunic. Just then, Marcello noticed Giovanni was wearing civilian's clothes, and he had a hood, too.

"What about your sword?" Marcello asked raising his hood. Giovanni was leading him out of the camp.

"It's all right, I'm not unarmed" Giovanni said flicking his wrist. A blade sprung out, but Marcello had also the time to notice a thin gun barrel under the bracer.

"I don't use it too much, not in these times" Giovanni continued retracting the blade "When you fight in the open field, leading an army into a battle, a hidden blade is useless and dangerous. I've also acted as a spy in the Spanish armies, using the hidden blade in there would have given me away. But now the only thing I might fear is getting too close to enemy scouts, and if they don't bother us, I won't even have a reason to nail them, not when they could take you to get to me"

"What if they do bother us?"

"You run as far as you can. Don't worry about me. If your aunt finds out I let you into any kind of trouble, I won't have too much to worry about the Spaniards"

They were on one of the many mule tracks of the countryside. Despite Giovanni's concerns, there was nobody around. Nothing, apart from the snow on the ground.

At a certain point, Giovanni stopped and pointed at the walls of a city, on the horizon.

"You see, eaglet? Pavia. There… are the Spanish and German troops. The enemy. The Templars"

"Are they all Templars?" Marcello asked

"No. Some of the commanders are. Charles de Lannoy is a Templar. Georg Frundsberg is a Templar, though I highly doubt he's here. The Duke of Bourbon is a Templar"

"Couldn't we just get rid of them?" Marcello asked again, shrugging

"Oh, this is the _fregatura_. If you just rub them out, their soldiers will cry Assassino if they see you and keep fighting if they don't see you. And even if they didn't want to keep on fighting for ideals or for a king, they would for their bread and butter"

"But if they aren't Templars…"

"You're too good, eaglet. They'd draw their sword in front of you without even thinking. They'll attack you, that's it, so be ready to attack them before they harm you, when you will have to"

"Why do they fight?"

"Why do _you_?"

Marcello didn't know what to answer. Why did he fight, nice question.

Then, he remembered what Papà and Mamma always said.

"For the others" his answer was instinctive "We live for the others. Templars want to rule the world and make everyone think the same because in their opinion there'll be always war if it's not like that, but Papà always says peace must be taught loving the other people, not making them afraid of you, and… _diceva sempre_"

"Be strong, eaglet, the answer was right" Giovanni told him putting an arm around his shoulders "Now you understand why do we have to keep on fighting? Why we can't give up? Your father did what he could. Now it's our turn. And there'll be more after us. But we must not give up now"

Marcello hold back his tears. He would not have cried, not this time.

He had to be strong. He had to fight, like Papà.

And he would have done it.

As the snow had started falling again, and Giovanni led him back to the safety and warmth of the camp, Marcello only thought about one thing.

He wouldn't have let what Papà had done in a lifetime be useless.

Would it have been the latest thing he would have done, he would have done it.

He would have not given up.

* * *

><p><em>I received another letter from Marcello, a longer one, in which he wrote me about the walk in the snowy countryside and all the things Giovanni made him do.<em>

_I found out Messer Pietro, more known as Pietro Aretino, was really someone stuck there by our Zia, mostly to balance Giovanni's recklessness and occasional anger. Her idea was to create a counterpart to Giovanni. What she didn't expect was the two to become best of friends._

_Between the dissolute poet and the condottiero, Marcello grew up well anyway, even if after Zia Claudia found out he and Giovanni had gotten close to the besieged town, alone, with the snow, and Giovanni was hardly armed, she hardly kept herself from sending Giovanni some letter "with a surprise" like she had heard Giovanni's mother had done to Rodrigo Borgia._

_Also because Giovanni kept his promise._

_The Bande Nere did not even take part in the Battle of Pavia – which was a total disaster for their faction because of this. Giovanni had been hurt at his left leg in a skirmish some days before the battle. An enemy arquebusier._

_He was taken to Parma as fast as possible, an expert surgeon was sent from Mantova, and the worst was avoided. Marcello remained at his mentor's bedside all the time._

_But, in the meantime, someone else had arrived in Roma._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Translations:<strong>_

_**Vieni = come**_

_**Sto bene, Fla', sto bene = I'm OK, Flavia, I'm OK**_

_**Sì, nessuno = yes, nobody**_

_**non è così = it's not this way**_

_**no? = a common question tag. Yeah, in Italian one size fits all.**_

_**Bene = well / good**_

_**Eh già = yeah (something like that)**_

_**Geniaccio = erratic genius**_

_**Piccola = little one (only used with girls)**_

_**Salve = greetings**_

_**Signorsì, signore = sir, yes sir**_

_**Fregatura = con**_

_**Diceva sempre = he always said. Notice the past tense.**_

_**I don't know if I told you already, but don't look up either Giovanni dalle Bande Nere OR Pietro Aretino on Wikipedia or whatever else. If you know who they are (cough cough Aeon Hawk cough cough Assassin's Creed Superfan cough cough), shut your faces in front of the other readers, someone would want to know it all when I reveal it anyway.**_

_**Anyway, one thing is for sure: Giovanni de'Medici really took his name from his real father. Both name and family name.**_


	5. Lady's Glove

_The news didn't get better at all._

_Every Assassin Guild was almost self-sufficient, so Machiavelli in Firenze, Ricoveri in Roma and a man called Lazzari in Venezia, came to know separately that Georg von Frundsberg, the powerful Templar believed to be away sedating peasants' uprisings, was certainly in Pavia, with twenty-eight companies of mercenaries, commanding the rear guard._

_As soon as he knew the news, Giovanni gave the order to fight without him, but Frundsberg's landsknechts overcame the Bande anyway and killed Richard, Giovanni's lieutenant. It was thanks to Pietro Aretino that the news circulated quickly in the Brotherhood._

_Machiavelli was the first to know, and he informed Giovanni's family. Then, we received the news in Rome, and someone decided it was time to intervene._

* * *

><p>Chapter 4<p>

Lady's Glove

_March 1525, San Secondo Parmense_

Giovanni had been snorting for half a morning, and Marcello could not do anything but share his opinion.

Having to stay still was the worst thing in the world. It was already a huge pain in the neck for him, who could walk around more or less without restraint. Giovanni in the bargain was stuck in his bed!

The surgeon who had extracted the bullet from his wound, Abramo da Mantova, a man with an odd hairstyle and yellow clothes, had ordered him to stay in bed, but Giovanni had restricted himself to answer him back and toss the bullet at him.

One of the soldiers, Carmine, if Marcello did remember his name, had given the commander a deck of cards, but the latter had hardly touched them, complaining about the fact the Spaniards had raided the Bande, stealing twenty-five of their horses.

"They did it just because you weren't there, or _col cavolo_ they'd have done it!" Marcello said dangling on the stool he had laid near the bed

He, too, was nervous, but for another reason. He had sent another letter to Flavia, telling her about Mastro Abramo, his walks in San Secondo and their host, Giovanni's nephew, but the courier had gone and come back without finding neither his sister nor her mentor.

"Still worried?" Giovanni asked him hauling himself up with his hands "I can understand you. When I was a small boy my mother was captured by the Borgias, I didn't see her for about three years"

"How old were you at the time?" Marcello asked him

"I was almost four when she came back to Firenze, but I was six when we restarted living together. I had hoped there would have been someone with her, but she was alone. I was such a dreamer, as a kid. There had always been a new father, eventually, for my half-siblings, but as it seemed, my mother had decided mine would have been the last"

"I'd never want another father"

"Of course. You spent enough time with him to remember him well. He loved you. Too obvious. Anyway, you should not worry too much for your sis. If I know your family well enough, and I know it since I was in the crib" Giovanni resolved picking some cards out of the deck "Your sister…" he showed him the _Fante di Spade_ "… could be two steps away from a Templar…" he held out a _Cavaliere di Denari_ "… and the latter would have the highest chances to get a good thrashing!" and he gave Marcello the _Re di Bastoni_.

Marcello grinned, then gave back the cards to Giovanni.

"We met before Roma once, you know? Just, you were too small to remember" Giovanni continued shuffling the cards "Your father was mad at me because my behaviour wasn't exactly the best. I didn't know your father was your father… I mean, I knew he was your father, but I didn't know he was the former Mentore, and I almost insulted him. He didn't shout at me, but when he answered I felt like _merda_. I wish I could have sunken in the ground. Then… you had been sitting on your father's shoulders, as he went away you turned a bit and told me bye-bye. Seven days later, your father gave me the broadsword I have now and said he trusted me. When I knew what had happened, last year, my first thought was to you. I thought at what you were going through. Strong as you can be, when you lose someone dear is like if you break your knees… you could need years before you can stand again… if you ever will"

"Especially if you always try to sneak out of bed!" a third voice intervened in the conversation

Giovanni almost sprang to his feet. On the contrary, when Francesco Vecellio stood out in the doorway, he just yelled "What are YOU doing here?" and looked daggers at him.

"I'm heading to Venezia. My brother is getting married next month" Francesco said entering the room "And as someone here seems in no fit state to train his student, someone had to take over"

"Just say thanks I can't leave the bed, you third-rate dauber!" Giovanni replied folding his arms

"That's for sure, man. You gave me the best chance to go to Venezia" Francesco said with a smirk "Anyway, I'm not alone, and I'm not the one who had the idea to come here. The person who had the idea… I think she's looking for Marcello in his room… and I think she's coming here, as he obviously isn't there"

"Francesco, is he in there?" a voice asked from the hallways

Oh, _that voice!_

"Mamma!"

He didn't care he was in front of his mentor. He didn't care he was in a foreign place. He rushed in the hallway and threw himself in her arms.

He had hardly the time to let her greet him before he noticed Flavia behind her.

Well, that explained a lot.

"How did you know I was here?" he asked them

"The Order knows everything about its members, the heads know where an injured Assassin might go" Flavia explained "Or so Francesco says, at least"

"I've missed you, Mamma" Marcello continued "You know, Giovanni says he knew Papà. Does he know you too?"

"I've met him twice, but I can't say I know him. What happened in Pavia? Did you get scared?"

"Uhmmm… no" Marcello said as they headed to the room he had been given "I mean, I was at the camp with Messer Pietro. When they came back, with all the _casino_ around, I got a bit scared, but Giovanni told me it was all right and I had to cool down… and bloody Hell, he had his leg covered in blood and he kept calm… I don't know how he did it, I really don't know"

"His family should be coming from Firenze" Mamma said "Machiavelli gave them the news, they should be here tomorrow"

"And what's this story about Messer Vecellio's brother?"

Flavia chuckled.

"A true one" she said "Francesco has a younger brother, Tiziano, who will get married in Venezia next month. Francesco didn't think he would have had the chance to attend the wedding, but taking your temporary custody he killed two birds with a stone"

"_Wedding_?" Marcello asked making a wry mouth "Please, tell me we don't have to go…"

"In theory…"

"I'm not wearing scratchy clothes!"

"Uuh, _sentilo_" someone else intervened behind them "I thought staying in an army made your skin harder"

"Hello to you too, Alessio" Marcello answered in a flat tone, before whispering to Flavia "_Why is he here?_"

"Someone decided to make me _cambiare aria_" Alessio said coming forward. He was wearing Enrico's hand-me-downs and his left hand was bandaged from a fingertip to the forearm. There was a splint under the bandages for sure, because his ring finger was unnaturally stiff and straight.

"Please, Marcello, don't start on him. He was badly thrashed, in Roma" Flavia told him

"_He_ started, to be honest" Marcello said without turning a hair

Alessio chuckled and patted Flavia on the shoulder with his good hand.

"Got it, you became tough indeed" he told Marcello

"Wool doesn't worry me" Marcello replied grimacing "Sunday best does"

* * *

><p><em>It was just great, being together again.<em>

_No one of us really knew the place, apart from Marcello who had been there for more time, but to us it seemed like if we were in Fiesole again, at least when Alessio was not around, and now he had too much spare time and no reason to stay on alert, we could see him snoring on the nearest bed, pillow or haystack most of the times._

_When Maria and Mino, Giovanni's wife and son, arrived, Mino tried to have some fun at Alessio's expense. I, Marcello and our mother had just come back from a walk in the town, and we didn't see exactly how the thing had begun… but the future governor of Firenze at the time was not even six years old. Anyone, aged five and a half, would no nothing but tomfoolery._

"_Si t'acchiappo te faccio rimpiagne d'esse nato!_"

* * *

><p>Flavia had to move aside to dodge little Mino who was running down the hallway and laughing hysterically, and Alessio, with a feather stuck in a nostril, who was running after him barefoot and bewildered, but abruptly stopped and apologized seeing her in his way.<p>

"What happened?" Mamma intervened

"Donna Sofia, that _topastro_ stuck a feather in my nose!" Alessio burst out as Mino, peeping out from behind a corner, cocked a snook at him. Flavia and Marcello couldn't help laughing.

"Well, at least he passed the stealth test" Marcello commented shrugging

Meanwhile, Mino had vanished in the hallways, even if the noise of his steps could still be heard.

"Run, run!" Alessio panted taking the feather out of his nose and pacing back and forth "_Nun te pijo, ma se te cojo_..."

"He's just five" Mamma made him notice "He wanted to play"

"When I was five, I never attempted to choke someone" Alessio moaned

Despite he had not given up the dialect, by that time he spoke in a quite understandable way, when he was not angry. Now he had all the right reasons to be mad at someone, he was speaking in full dialect again.

"Try to step in his shoes, Alessio" Mamma continued "That boy grew up in a palace, he has no siblings, no friends, and his father is always away. He has had no one to play with for sure"

"He eats, sleeps and keeps his bum warm. What else does he need? _Moccioso viziato_!"

"Maybe he acts like that because he does lack something" Mamma resolved "Maybe he was trying to wake you up to play with you"

"In his dreams!"

"I'll go and look for him" Marcello announced heading in the direction Mino had gone

"_Aspetta_, I'm coming with you" Flavia said going after him "Where could he have gone?"

"Not so far. He arrived only some time ago, and if he didn't come here before today he might even have gotten lost"

"Mamma is right, in my opinion"

"Of course she is. For Alessio, Mino is just a noble scion. He always was with other children, both in the orphanage and in the streets, he doesn't know what it means, staying alone" Marcello answered playing with the hilt of his wooden sword.

He had left it in Fiesole when they had left, but Mamma had given him it again, overall because "she didn't like seeing it covered in dust". Flavia had gotten another in Roma, and in the last days the two siblings had started sparring.

"Are you still looking for him?"

Mino was sitting on a bench. He wasn't laughing anymore, on the contrary he looked quite solemn.

"Who?" Flavia asked

"You didn't find him anymore" Mino continued standing up and rubbing a foot on the floor "I was having a walk with Carlotta, and I saw you two looking for your _babbo_. Did you find him then? I wanted to help you but Carlotta took me away"

Marcello looked at his feet and took a hand up to his face. It didn't take too much to understand that Mino had been in Piazza del Duomo when it… _when it had happened_.

"Didn't you find him anymore?" Mino asked with a sad face

Marcello raised his head again and stepped closer to the younger child.

"Mino… my Papà had not vanished. He had gone _in cielo_"

"In _cielo_?" Mino asked looking up "_Nonni_ are in _cielo_ too. Do you think they have met then? I mean… Nonno Jacopo and Nonna Lucrezia aren't, they're in Firenze. But Nonno Giovanni is in _cielo_, and Nonna Caterina, too. They went there before I was born. My Mamma says there's a poet who wrote about how Heaven is. I want to learn how to read, so I can know how is it. Can you read, boy?"

Marcello nodded.

"And what's your name?"

"Marcello. Marcello Auditore. And this is my sister Flavia"

"I'm Cosimo, Cosimo de'Medici. But people call me Mino 'cause Cosimo is an old man's name. And I have no siblings. But I have maany cousins"

"I have two cousins"

"But can you really read?"

"I told you I can"

"And what's the name of the poet who wrote how is Heaven?"

"You mean Dante Alighieri?" Flavia intervened "Sorry, Mino, we haven't read the Divina Commedia. Not all of it, at least"

"You have a sword!" Mino pointed out pointing at her "Why do you have a sword? You're a girl!"

"Because I'm the eldest and I have to look after my little brother" Flavia said giving a pat on Marcello's shoulder

"_Little_ brother? You're not bigger than him!"

"_Scram_, you midget" Alessio intervened from behind Marcello

As his only answer, Mino stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry at the oldest boy.

"But this kiddo has never seen a _battipanni_?" Alessio asked shaking his head "Anyway, Francesco is looking for you. Classes. Outside"

"Where?" Flavia asked

"At the stables. And no, nothing to do with horses"

* * *

><p><em>We immediately understood that, if Francesco had asked us to meet him at the stables, it wasn't for the horses but for the hay: we had to jump from the roof of a shack in the stables to another, and there was a haystack in the gap between.<em>

_It's needless saying that that day we hit more often the hay than the roof. After an hour or two, Marcello managed to grab the edge of the roof, but he had hurt himself a bit trying to get to it, and he let go at once._

_The second day, Alessio tried to join us, but Francesco chased him away telling him that he wasn't letting him do things like that with a bandaged hand. At a point, Mino, too, tried to climb on a shack. Francesco lifted him out of the way before he could start climbing and took him away muttering insults at the junior branch of the House of Medici. And I won't talk about the swats he gave Mino!_

_For Giovanni, even his wife's presence was not enough to stay in bed. Then again, his wife wasn't the kind of woman who stands up to a man – she wasn't like my mother at all, let's get this straight. As soon as he could stand up (on crutches!), he announced we would have gone to Venezia the soonest possible and, it was obvious, he restarted giving Marcello all the classes he could… chair._

_I did not envy Marcello in those days. Giovanni dalle Bande Nere really was… well, a condottiero. He was really strict, he kept scolding him. And Marcello did not turn a hair._

_Marcello himself, the last evening we spent in San Secondo, told me that Giovanni did it on purpose. He was teaching him to stay calm. To chill out._

_Alessio commented that that kind of lesson explained a lot and vanished under the blankets._

_The next day, something tried Marcello's "chill out training" to the limit._

* * *

><p>"But where can it be gone?"<p>

"Marcello, enough of it now" Francesco intervened "I let you sit on the box to take your mind off the matter, not to let you keep striving for that piece of paper"

"That's no piece of paper" Marcello replied as Francesco fiddled with the reins

"Technically, it _is_" Giovanni said folding his arms "Christ, Francesco, can't you go faster than this?"

They were on the road for Venezia, on a two horses cart that reminded to Marcello the one they had had at home, except for the fact this one was closed.

Flavia, Alessio and Mino (that was really Alessio's day) were travelling in the rear with Mamma and Maria de'Medici, while Marcello had been allowed to sit on the box with Francesco and Giovanni as an exception.

"I'm surprised at you, eaglet. You delayed the departure for an old poster" Giovanni commented giving Marcello an ugly look "You must have lost it at the camp without noticing it. When we hurried away after the skirmish"

"No, I had it then. I always keep it under the jerkin" Marcello said "I can't believe it. I lost it like an idiot. I've lost Papà's portrait"

He sniffled, but Giovanni grabbed his shoulder.

"Men don't cry. By the way, what was that, ink on paper?"

Francesco turned his head and looked daggers at Giovanni.

"Who knows why some years ago you caused a stink when you couldn't find that broadsword of yours"

"What did you say I did?" Giovanni asked trying to stand up

"_E basta_!" Marcello burst out slapping both Assassins' backs.

Francesco and Giovanni looked at him, then looked in each other's eyes. Then, they burst into laughter.

When they encamped, Alessio was definitely annoyed and Mino kept running after him and calling him names.

"Stop over here!" Francesco intervened lifting the little boy out of the way again "Now you go to Alessio and apologize"

"Why?"

"Because polite people do so. Do you want to be rude?"

"No"

"Then tell him you're sorry and don't do it again"

Mino went to Alessio and apologized without too much conviction, then he started scampering around the lawn.

"What happened in there?" Marcello asked Flavia as she got out of the carriage

"Nothing, the little one is a rascal and Alessio's patience wore thin"

"His old man's patience was even thinner" Giovanni intervened limping behind them

"What? You knew his father?" Marcello asked turning all of a sudden

"Sì, I arrived in Roma the very year in which Alessio was born. February 1513, I'm ready to bet that was the month, too. Ask that _fetente_ his birthday, I'm pretty sure he's a Pisces. First I studied in what remained of the Firenze Guild, but my mentor was arrested and put under torture, I got myself exiled trying to make him escape, and my godfather decided the best thing for me would have been to clear out in the _Caput Mundi_. Filippo… Filippo Falcone was there for other reasons"

"So Alessio's family name is Falcone?" Flavia asked

"Sì, but I highly doubt the boy knows. Anyway, in brief, Filippo was from the South, and for how society is there, _Assassini_ have a pretty hard life. Let alone the fact he was living with a woman out of wedlock, and _stronzate_ like this. Anyway, he had run to Roma with his mate, I don't remember what… _COSIMO DE'MEDICI, THROW THAT FUCKING WEED AWAY RIGHT NOW_!"

Both Flavia and Marcello jumped on the spot, but their reaction was nothing compared to Mino, who had been approaching them with some purple flowers in his hand, and suddenly dropped them and started sniveling.

"Wash your hands right now, don't touch your face, don't touch your clothes, and never touch those flowers again!" Giovanni ordered to his son following him with a slight difficulty

"But what…?" Marcello uttered getting closer to the dropped flowers and kneeling for a better look "I mean, they're just flowers. Even if Mino had _una cotta per te_, Flavia, of which I'm quite sure, why did Giovanni shout that loud? Are this flowers…?"

"Poisonous, that's right" Francesco said getting close "Lady's Glove. They're very common, it's for this even Giovanni, who can recognize poisons like Malik Al-Sayf could play a chitarra, recognized them. Some healers in country villages use it to cure heart diseases or what was called the Sacred Disease by the ancients, but the difference between the dose that could cure you and the dose that would kill you is very, really slight"

He took a piece of cloth from his pouch and wrapped the flowers in it, minding not to touch them with bare hands.

"I guess little Mino just wanted to pick some flowers, and he found just these around" he commented "Too young to understand that if livestock didn't eat them, there must be a reason. Noble gesture of his, but that was a lesson he had to learn. Anyway, Marcello, you're not the only one who lost something in San Secondo. I've checked my baggage, and two pencils and my stock of paper are missing. Giovanni should tell his nephew to hire housekeepers with more motivation"

Marcello kindly grinned to him and stood up.

"Could you and Flavia stop there when you'll go back to Roma? You could retrieve my poster, too"

"I'm sorry, young man, but I'm not going back there just for paper and pencils. My brother has his workshop in Venezia, if he hasn't paper and pencils there…"

* * *

><p><em>The remaining part of the journey was spent more or less normally. Mino was still shaken because of the Lady's Glove, and he started treading down every flower in his reach saying that Lucrezia Borgia had poisoned them. Francesco had to make him see reason again, and at that point I heard Mino whispering to him – or at least, he thought he was whispering – something like he wanted to marry me.<em>

_Marcello was doubled up with laughter for the whole evening… or at least, until I slapped him on his face._

_The last stage of the journey should have been Forlì, but Giovanni preferred to redirect north to Ferrara and follow the delta of the Po river up to the sea. He said he had to talk to the Mentore, but Francesco was the first to say the thing sounded fishy. Then again, almost every time Giovanni spoke, Francesco seemed more than ready to contradict him._

_But, in the end, we stopped in Ferrara and Giovanni reported to the Mentore._

* * *

><p>"I'm willing to believe von Frundsberg knows too much" Giovanni explained playing with some of the fruits in the bowl at the center of the table "We must silence him the soonest we can, but I still don't know how. We thought he wasn't in Pavia, yet I got news from the battle. His landsknechts were there indeed, they killed Richard"<p>

Marcello had to bite his lip to stay silent. Richard of Suffolk had been an ally of the Assassin despite not being one, and he also had been Giovanni's lieutenant. That did explain why the Bande had been attacked and pillaged so easily.

"I've heard Claudia has assigned Pietro Aretino to the Bande" Ariosto answered "Do you need others? Pietro won't be enough, if we want to rub out that Tyrolean. I would even ask why did Claudia ask him to follow you"

Giovanni had to hold back laughter.

"She thought I needed some help to train my understudy. In the end, Pietro found himself to work as a preceptor"

"He doesn't dislike it so much, anyway" Marcello intervened "He almost had fun making me read the stories of Chichibio, Friar Cipolla and Abbess Usimbalda. But it's not true Venetians are idiots like the story of Chichibio says. My mother is from Venezia and she's not an idiot at all"

"_Aspetta_, young man, you would be…?"

"Marcello Auditore, messere. Nice to meet you"

Ariosto was up to shake his hand, but he stopped.

"Ezio's son?" he asked Giovanni "And you're teaching him?"

"Excuse me, why don't you talk to him?" Giovanni said springing to his feet "He lost his father less than one year ago, _cazzo_! Could you have more fucking tact?"

Ariosto stayed silent. Probably, Giovanni knew something Marcello didn't know, and something big, in the bargain.

"I may not stand too much Claudia, but on one thing she's right. You go around with your eyes shut and sealed" Giovanni snarled pointing accusingly at him "Von Frundsberg liquidates us and I didn't even know he was there. Soldiers arrive in Fiesole from fucking Cathay! Fights in Venezia, an Assassin, from Cathay too, leaves his feathers behind, and the only way we knew it was because his _apprentice_ told _Ezio_ who mentioned it in his _final memories_. You have your predecessor on your conscience, Ludovico. Along with a Brother from the Orient and an ally. Never compromise the Brotherhood, the third tenet says. And it's collapsed on you, as it seems"

Marcello listened in total silence. What did Giovanni mean?

What had Ludovico Ariosto got to do with the soldiers who had attacked his home?

Why was Giovanni putting the blame on him?

Above all, why wasn't Ludovico retorting?

"You're right, Giovanni. I could not live my two lives" he said in the end "I'm not a good leader, I told it Ezio twelve years ago, and I told it Alfonso d'Este when he sent me off to rule Garfagnana, yet no one listened to me"

He opened a double-bottom locker and took a satchel from it.

"Take them" he told Giovanni, putting the satchel in his hands "I never used them once, I actually never had the chance to. You're right, I'm only good at sitting and writing. As soon as possible, I'll leave this task to someone else"

"It's not what I was asking you" Giovanni said in a firm tone "I only ask you to put your head back on your shoulders, not to babble about your ineptitude. If Ezio Auditore left you his mantle, that's because he saw something in you. Try to pull out that something, before I have to use my sword to do it"

He gestured to Marcello to stand up and follow him outside, and hauled Ariosto's satchel on his shoulders.

It was raining and thundering like if sun had never existed. Marcello and Giovanni both had hoods, but water went through it anyway. Luckily, the inn they were staying at wasn't far, and it was likely they would have found a change of clothes in there.

"He is the Mentore" Marcello commented as they walked under a balcony to avoid the rain "Why did you talk to him like that?"

Giovanni made a pair of steps forward and turned so he could face Marcello.

"The Mentore is like the father of all Assassins. Father, older brother, call him as you want to, but he has all of us as his responsibility, just like I have you as a responsibility. If someone comes to hurt you, it's my fault because I wasn't watching over you. If the soldiers arrived at your villa, it's because they haven't been stopped, or they haven't been stopped for good, by other Brothers or Sisters. Maybe your father was already ill, but who tells us the Mentore wasn't responsible of it at all?"

"So it's his fault or not?" Marcello asked

"I believe he thinks it is" Giovanni answered pulling the satchel off his shoulders "Marcello… these are your father's weapons. I think it would be right if you kept them"

He put the bag in his hands and patted him on the shoulder, then he gestured him to restart walking.

"One thing is for sure: one more thing Ariosto lets slip under his nose" he resolved "And someone else is going to get killed. And I don't mean him"

* * *

><p><strong>Col cavolo = like Hell, no way<strong>

**Fante di Spade = Knave of Swords. In some kinds of Italian playing cards, it's depicted as a young woman. Don't ask me why, but it's this way.**

**Cavaliere di Denari = Knight of Coins. Templars were Knights for a period, and coins is money – their corruption of society.**

**Re di Bastoni = King of Clubs. Just to say that Templar would get the mother of all thrashings!**

**Merda = shit**

**Casino = mess**

**Sentilo = listen to him**

**Cambiare aria = clear out**

**Si t'acchiappo te faccio rimpiagne d'esse nato (Roman dialect) = If I catch you, I'll make you regret your own birth**

**Topastro = mouse, rat (in a very pejorative sense)**

**Nun te pijo, ma se te cojo... (Roman dialect) = I won't catch you, but if I see you again...**

**Moccioso viziato = spoilt brat**

**Aspetta = wait**

**Babbo = another way to say "Dad"**

**In cielo = literally "in the sky", but it's a way, used especially with children, to say "in Heaven"**

**Nonni = grandparents (Nonno = grandpa; Nonna, grandma)**

**Divina Commedia = Divine Comedy**

**Battipanni = carpet beater. Some parents used it to spank children – or at least so I've heard.**

**E basta! = Enough!**

**Fetente = stinker. In a playful meaning, in this context.**

**Caput Mundi (Latin) = capital of the world, Roma.**

**Stronzate = bullshit. Obviously, Giovanni, who before marrying – at age 18 – had been a womanizer like another acquaintance of ours, calls bullshit the people's reaction, not Filippo's behavior.**

**Una cotta per te = a crush on you**

**Chitarra = guitar. Yes, a kind of guitar existed in that period, but NOT in the Middle Ages, or at least not in the Holy Land, and even if it had existed, surely Malik could not have played it. This should give you an idea of how Giovanni is good at recognizing poison.**

**Chichibio, Friar Cipolla and Abbess Usimbalda = three characters of the stories in Boccaccio's Decameron. Very funny stories, I had a pretty good laugh reading them. Chichibio is a cook who tries to make his master believe cranes have only one leg, Friar Cipolla takes fake relics around to get alms and is deceived by a group of boys who replace "an angel's" feather with coals – and he saves himself saying those coals had burnt a martyr, and Abbess Usimbalda is up to scold a nun found… well, let's just say not alone in her room, but she had been in a priest's company and when she gets out of her room to scold the nun, she doesn't notice she has gone out wearing the priest's pants on her head.**

**Cazzo = the literal translation would be dick, but in this case, it's shit as he's swearing.**


	6. Benvenuto

Chapter 5

Benvenuto

_April 1525, Venezia_

Flavia had never been in Venezia, but the first thing that came in her mind was that _she liked it_.

Like they had done in Roma, they had parted ways when they had arrived, or better, when they had left the ferry boat, even if this time it wasn't to stay incognito: Giovanni had been summoned to Palazzo Ducale by the Doge himself, Maria and Mino had been offered lodging by one of the noble families in the city, and Mamma, who had no urgent destination, had decided the three of them and Alessio would have gone with Francesco, who was trying to locate his brother's workshop through some information on a letter.

They had decided that Palazzo Seta, the headquarters of the Venetian Assassins' Guild, would have been their meeting place when the bells would have struck noon, but at the moment the main problem was to actually _find_ the workshop.

"The old scoundrel was never good at giving directions" Francesco snorted pocketing the letter "All right, San Polo district. All right, it has belonged to Da Vinci. But a "turn right" or a "head north", he could have put it in the letter!"

"Francesco! _Vecchia canaglia_!"

The person who had just intervened was a man slightly younger than Francesco, with his same long nose and broad shoulders, but with darker hair and an intellectual's looks.

"Look who's talking. You could have written some directions in your letter! You'll tell me later, whose was your freaking workshop. I don't have much time, I have to see Lazzari at Palazzo Seta"

"Cut it out, Francesco. You sound like our old man!" Tiziano replied with a sly grin "First you shut yourself up in Pieve, then you go down to Roma, and now it's ages we don't see each other the first thing you can tell me is that you got to see Ugo badger Lazzari?"

"It was no case if I was sent to Perotto to learn the profession of arms and you were taken to Bellini's workshop, you know"

"Sì, but as far as I've heard you picked up palette and brushes too"

"Cut it out, Tiziano. I'm not here to have an argument"

"_Ho capito, ho capito_. Anyway…" Tiziano said looking around "Madonna Sofia, it's nice to see you again. Please accept my condolences for your husband"

"Thanks" Mamma answered "Messer Vecellio, meet my daughter Flavia and my son Marcello"

"And that's Alessio" Francesco resolved "He would be the son of Filippo, the fugitive we sheltered in Roma twelve years ago. I told you about him, didn't I?"

"You told me about three fugitives, to be honest" Tiziano clarified leading them in an alley "Filippo Falcone, Giovanni de'Medici, and then… what did you say was the name of Filippo's mistress… Alya?"

"Why are you telling me this just now?" Alessio asked Francesco

"Did you ever ask?" Francesco replied

Alessio remained silent, but Flavia could imagine what he would have wanted to ask.

_How could he have known Francesco knew?_

"Well, now you, too, know your father's name" she told him with a grin "You have a family name. You're Alessio _Falcone_. _Suona bene_"

"That's not the point" Alessio replied looking at Francesco "He knew who I am. Why did he kept it hidden from me? I thought I would have been a "Proietti" all my life, and now I'm told my old man existed and escaped from who knows where!"

"You should be happy about it, young man" Tiziano told him "Who ends up in the crèche usually never finds who his parents are, unless they take him back"

"What do I do with a name, if my parents are dead anyway?"

"By the way" Francesco intervened "Cecilia is better? What about the boys?"

"Orazio and Pomponio are all right, Cecilia isn't worse, but… well, the doctor said maybe she'll heal. Even if everything came out for the best, at least now the boys could have my name. I wonder when _you_ will think about a lady, actually. You seemed to get along with that Tessa Varzi… and now you're five years older than me and I'm the first to go to the alt…"

He seemed to have hit a nerve, because Francesco gave him a nasty look and quickened his pace.

"All right, I'm sorry. But you should look forward sometimes. You know, life may be long or short, but if you spend it on your own it might be a bore…"

* * *

><p><em>In brief, as Francesco had said, there was a reason if he had been the brother who had been trained in the ways of the Assassins.<em>

_Tiziano, too, cooperated with the Brotherhood, but as an informer: his role of official painter of the Serenissima allowed him to come and go in Palazzo Ducale without even having to speak out his name to the guards. Not including the fact he used part of his huge incomes to sustain the Venezia Guild._

_We found out almost immediately that he was getting married because his mistress, Cecilia Soldani, was ill and as she had already two kids – the eldest was about as old as Mino – he didn't want them to stay illegitimate._

_Francesco quickly slipped away: no matter how much he and Tiziano got along, and they really did, duty came first for him._

* * *

><p>Palazzo Seta wasn't far, but despite Giovanni had had to walk longer, he already was waiting for them there, leaning against the gate.<p>

"I suppose your hearing with the Doge has been brief" Francesco commented joining him "I just hope you didn't end it with a punch as you usually do"

Giovanni snorted.

"He wanted the Bande to fight for the Serenissima" he explained "Me, to replace Bartolomeo, to sum it up"

"And what did you decide?" Marcello asked him

"It does not pay at all" Giovanni answered "Neither for me, as I'm too young, nor for this country, as it's too elderly. I mean, those Council blokes sooner or later will have mold in their beards!"

Marcello and Alessio burst out with laughter, while Francesco rolled his eyes.

"If they knew I'm your friend, my brother would lose his job" he commented crossing the gate

From the outside, the building looked like a nobleman's residence, surely not the base of an Assassins' Guild, but once inside, the true nature of the building could be easily guessed: the men and women bustling about weren't dressed as guards or servants, many of them wore hoods, and there was a group of kids in their early teens or younger sitting or kneeling on the ground and chatting, who surely were not noble scions.

"This is it. The Serenissima for which someone can fight" Giovanni commented with a smirk

In a corner, a man quite old but still visibly fit was discussing with two hooded Assassins.

Giovanni walked forward, approached stealthily to the taller one, who wore the long tunic of a fully-fledged Assassino, and gave him a smack on the shoulder that boomed out in the whole courtyard.

"What the fu…?" the Assassin burst out, and for Flavia those few words were enough to recognize the Florentine accent.

"That was pitiful, Cecchino, if I had been a Templar you would be dead now" Giovanni commented as the man called Cecchino turned "How on Earth your ring finger was branded before your _older_ brother's?" he added looking at the shorter man, who still wore Apprentice robes.

"You, in the bargain. Shouldn't you be with your soldiers?" Cecchino replied

"Wounded in battle. And you didn't answer my question"

"I can explain" Cecchino's brother said lowering his hood and raising his hands

"Oh, you can for sure." Cecchino sneered giving his older brother a dirty look "He had his fun with courtesans, he got who knows what disease and he stayed for a month at the seaside while I ended an usurer's suffering. He should call himself lucky he didn't get the French disease and he healed!"

"_We're here on Machiavelli's order_" the eldest spoke out with his teeth gritted "Report. Some courtesans in Milano have spied upon the Templars in the Ducato. They had been sent from Roma by Rosa, so the news would only have reached Firenze and Roma if Niccolò wouldn't have added to the report the order to bring the news here. And Cecchino and I decided to do it. I hope my own effort will be rewarded, I'm within a hair's breadth of the end of my apprenticeship"

"Hadn't Niccolò been arrested twelve years ago…" Giovanni grumbled "He would have been better than Ariosto. That slowcoach would be of help only if he made the hippothings real and gave them to our couriers!"

"Hippo_griffs_, Giovanni"

"Whatever"

"You let a child correct you?" Cecchino Cellini asked him

"I hope I see the day he'll correct you, and believe me, it will happen" Giovanni answered putting an arm around Marcello's shoulders "He's not just a child. He's my apprentice. And apprentices are supposed to surpass their mentors"

The old man made an impatient gesture, and Giovanni and the Cellinis turned to him.

"You were saying, Benvenuto?"

"Oh, _giusto_" the older Cellini mumbled "According to what has been discovered, Charles of Habsburg is not a Templar"

"Not a Templar!" Giovanni burst out "His lieutenants are Templars, some of his advisors are Templars, and he… _isn't_? I'm surprised they didn't get rid of him to put one of them in his place"

"You should not be so surprised, instead" Francesco intervened "After what we've done under Ezio's guidance, the Templars took the bush to survive. They must have understood acting is easier behind the scenes, as it seems. It would have happened sooner or later. The only thing we can do now is improve our espionage, find out who's plotting, something like this"

"One thing is for sure" the old man said "Luckily for us, they still are attracted by power like flies by honey. Charles of Habsburg is the emperor, so the Templars follow him, support him, advice him. The Empire On Which The Sun Never Sets tempts them a lot"

"On which the Sun never sets?" Marcello puffed "_Ma per favore_! The Sun always sets! At the most… well, at the most the Sun will set once in every place!"

Giovanni and the Cellini brothers chuckled, while Flavia tried unsuccessfully to elbow her brother.

"That boy is a waste as your apprentice" Benvenuto commented "If I already had done the Leap of Faith…"

"He'd have preferred me anyway, I've known him since he could hardly speak" Giovanni replied

The elder, who as it seemed had a somewhat important role, gave the two Assassins a dirty look.

"_Finish your report_, Benvenuto"

"Von Frundsberg and the Duke of Bourbon as it seems know the location of the Headquarters of Roma, and probably the location of the Firenze one too. They don't dare attacking as long as they won't be there themselves, but I'm afraid they will head south exploiting the Emperor's campaigns"

"_Cazzo_!" Giovanni burst out slapping the air "Bloody… fucking… damned… Hell!"

"_Amen_" Benvenuto commented

"Amen my ass! If you didn't notice, my army and I are the only thing standing between them and the Brotherhood!"

"For this Machiavelli is thinking about a plan to evacuate the Guilds. We are looking for other safe places, possibly in the countryside, in places less populated. What the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't grieve over"

"As for Venezia, there are quite a few deserted islands in the lagoon. If we start building shelters there, we'll be safe, too" the elder said

"Ugo, I doubt they'll be interested in paying you a visit. The troops are followers of Luther, they see Roma as the city of corruption and they'll head straight there. Venezia would be just an useless detour for them" Cecchino intervened

"You never know" Ugo replied "I don't want my men to risk. Instead, you two, as soon as you are back in Roma, tell Rosa that if someone orders to leave the city, she _must_ leave the city"

Giovanni fumed and folded his arms.

"I'll die in bed before Roma will have to be evacuated"

"Watch out for what you promise, Giovanni" Alessio intervened mimicking his gesture

"See if you belt up before I show you my belt. And if I see you threatening my son again, I swear I'll do it"

Alessio didn't flinch like the novices of Roma, on the contrary he stared at Giovanni with a defiant attitude, falcon by name and by nature.

"You're still without a mentor, aren't you?" Benvenuto dimmed the tension addressing Alessio "If I was initiated soon, I'd consider the idea of having you as my understudy"

Alessio shook his head in denial and disappeared behind a column.

"Does he always act like that?" Benvenuto asked

"Usually he restricts himself to say no" Francesco commented "Maybe the sea air wasn't good for him, but in any case, _gatta ci cova_"

* * *

><p><em>Alessio disappeared, or better stayed unseen, for many days.<em>

_I was very worried, more than else because he did not know the place well. One of the girls of the Venezia Guild, Giuditta, once told me she had seen him around Tiziano's workshop, where he could stay even for hours, watching._

_Giuditta also mentioned she had seen him fiddling with a pencil, trying to draw something. When he had found out she was near him, he had directed to her a series of insults in Roman dialect and he had raised his middle finger._

* * *

><p>"What was he drawing?" Marcello asked, curious<p>

"A person, I think. A young man" Giuditta answered shrugging "I couldn't see much, but your friend's got skill. I wonder why he keeps it secret"

"He has had a hard life" Flavia explained "He hardly trusts anyone, Marcello and I are two of the few he does trust"

"He doesn't trust me so much" Marcello replied "At least, since we've met Mino, he keeps away from me"

He had started fumbling with the edge of the leather bracers Giovanni had paid a leather worker to make for him. He had told him Papà's old bracers would have been too large for him, and he wasn't going to postpone some hidden blade training because Marcello was too small for his father's bracers.

"Look who's here" Giuditta almost whispered when Alessio rushed in "Talk of the Devil and he shall appear"

"Marcè, the kids of the Guild are up to play tug of war!" Alessio panted "Why don't we join them?"

"Do you think they'll let us play?" Marcello asked in a skeptical way

"You say your name, and they'll be arguing over you" Alessio smirked, gesturing to follow him

"Why should I use my name as a pass?"

In the outer courtyard of the Palazzo, the novices of the Guild and the kids from the Guild of Thieves had unraveled a rope on the ground and tied a rag in the middle.

"Are you playing, too?" the oldest novice asked "All right, guys, there are the two kids from Roma too. Names?"

"I'm Alessio Falcone and he's Marcello Auditore" Alessio answered "And Marcello's not from Roma, he's from Fiesole"

"Oh, _forget it_" Marcello replied rolling his eyes "I told you, my name _is not a pass_!"

"Never mind, no one here's better than the others" the novice said "By the way, I'm Jacopo. Alessio, in Roma you are in the Brotherhood?"

"No, he isn't" Marcello intervened before Alessio could answer

"_Bene_. Marcello, you with the Assassins, Alessio, with the thieves" Jacopo resolved pointing the opponent team to Alessio "Marcello, behind me, and _do_ pull that rope. Felice…" he then told the one who seemed the chief of the young thieves "On my three… one… two… three!"

The rope Marcello was holding gave a powerful tug, and Marcello clutched it and fought to not let go.

Behind him, other novices kept pulling, in front of him Jacopo moved a hand forward every now and again to gain precious inches of the contended rope.

The knotted rag was slowly moving towards them. Marcello kept pulling, behind him the Venetian novices did their best.

Then, the continuous tug of the thieves' team ceased, and Marcello found himself with his bottom on the ground and his back on the belly of the boy behind him.

"Jacopo, get up please, _you're heavy_" Marcello complained to the teenage novice who had fallen on him.

"_Scusa_" Jacopo stood up and gave him a helping hand.

The boys of the Guild of Thieves were almost all on their feet, some of them had rope burns on their hands and others had their clothes torn. Alessio's shirt was ripped, and he was swearing like a soldier, making the Venetian kids laugh.

"What is this?" Jacopo asked picking up a piece of paper from the ground "Who dropped it?"

"I think…" Marcello told him getting closer, but what Jacopo had in his hands wasn't what he was expecting.

It was an old poster. _The_ poster.

Guessing where had it come out from was even too easy.

Alessio had torn his clothes. The poster had fallen on the ground. Alessio knew where Marcello had slept, in San Secondo. _Alessio had stolen the poster._

"Marcello, chill off. Anything wrong?" Jacopo asked as Marcello snatched the poster from his hands and stepped towards the defeated team.

"It wasn't enough, answering back to my mentor! You also had to steal my father's portrait!" Marcello shouted to Alessio "You _stronzo_! I HATE you!"

"Marcello…" Jacopo mumbled, holding out a hand to seize the sleeve of his shirt, not fast enough to prevent Marcello from rushing forward and attacking Alessio with his fists raised.

"_Cazzo_, someone stop them!" Jacopo burst out behind him, but Marcello didn't give him a damn. He just wanted to hit every spot of the _thief_ he could reach.

"Marcello… we… are friends…" Alessio stuttered

"_I am not your friend_!" Marcello bellowed holding up his right hand in a fist and clutching Alessio's tunic with his left.

The right hand moved and found its target. After the punch, a push. Then, a kick.

"_Stop it_!"

Someone caught Marcello from behind, holding his arms so he could not fight back, and someone else minded to hold Alessio up.

Only then, Marcello started weeping.

* * *

><p>A few moments later, they both were in the inner courtyard of Palazzo Seta, Alessio with a wet rag against his bleeding nose, and Marcello still with tears in his eyes.<p>

"Do you realize the damage you did to each other?" Francesco was telling them pacing back and forth "Alessio. I must suppose you relieved me of my pencils too. You could have asked for them, did you think about it? What matters isn't you stealing stuff, but the fact that we _trusted_ you. You betrayed our trust when I took you away from Roma to save you from those boys who would have knocked the living daylights out of you if they had seen you after the doctor was done with you!"

"I'b sorry, Fraggesgo"

"You should not apologize to me, but to Marcello"

"I'b sorry"

"As for you, Marcello, I can understand how you felt, but what you've done is the worst reaction you could have had. If we were in the Dark Times Masyaf, you'd both be stuck in a room for a month, _at the very least_"

Marcello sighed again.

"Alessio, you betrayed the Brotherhood's trust, and as much as it hurts me to say it, I forbid you from following me, Giovanni, or any other Assassin or Apprentice. Go away and start a new life"

Alessio stayed still, his gaze on Francesco. Not even Marcello could think about a harsher punishment.

"But Francesco…" he found himself saying

"Marcello, as for you, you gave in to the anger and you laid hands on someone you considered a friend minutes ago. If you hadn't been a novice, this would have been a violation of the first tenet. Did Giovanni fail to explain you the rules, or did you forget them?"

Francesco didn't shout like Giovanni, he spoke in a calm tone, but this maybe made his scolding even worse.

"Don't harm innocents, don't put your enemy on alert, you're always in charge of your Brothers and Sisters, so don't do anything that might get them hurt" Marcello recited

"Your sword, boy"

"My sword?" Marcello whined, laying a hand on the wooden sword Papà had given him for his birthday.

"I'm taking it away for now. If you can't control your own hands, how can I be sure you won't break it on someone's head, next time?"

"But…"

"No buts. Give me it. _Now_"

Holding back another sob, Marcello took the sword and tossed it on the ground.

"Don'd do id, Fragge', id's from his fader!"

Francesco pretended not to hear him and picked the sword up.

"I don't want to see you here anymore, Alessio. _Go away_"

* * *

><p><em>I didn't witness the scene, Marcello told me about it some days later, but I was told by Jacopo that Alessio had been driven away because he had been stealing from the Assassins and Marcello had been punished for attacking him.<em>

_In the following days, I saw Alessio wandering around Palazzo Seta, staring, and vanishing after a while. I didn't dare talking about it to Francesco, also because Marcello had restarted shutting himself off like he had done when Papà had died. If there was someone who had to stand by him, it was me._

_Yet, he was the first to restart worrying about Alessio._

* * *

><p><em>May 2, 1525, Venezia, San Polo district<em>

They were sitting on a bench not so far from Tiziano's workshop. Marcello had left a bundle in the corner where Alessio had been used to lurk in the past days.

"I don't think he'll come here again. Not even Giuditta has seen him around" Flavia said "After all, Tiziano is almost an Assassin, even if he just cooperates. Francesco told him to stay away from the Assassins…"

"The other packages I left vanished just after I left them, who else might be?" Marcello asked "By the way, can Alessio read?"

"I think he can hardly write his own name and stuff like that, why are you asking?"

"_Mamma_. Mamma isn't part of the Brotherhood" Marcello explained "And she's still got family here, she told us about it, remember? She could ask someone of them to shelter Alessio or something like that. If I only could let him know… and there's Maria de'Medici, too, and some of the soldiers of the Bande… I mean, I can't believe Francesco wants to leave Alessio in the streets just because he took a piece of paper from my jerkin while I was asleep!"

"According to what Jacopo told me, you didn't seem too happy when you found out"

"Sì, but now I'd kick my own butt! If I had known what would have happened, I'd have asked him why…"

"Why did he do it?" Flavia commented "Let's connect the dots. He took your poster and Francesco's pencils. Giuditta told me she has seen him drawing. What I don't understand, though, is why did he keep that a secret"

"_Ciao, bambini_" Benvenuto exclaimed crossing the small square

"Why aren't you with your brother?" Flavia asked him

"Cecchino left the city. He is a soldier, and I don't think a soldier would hide in plain sight without an army, especially in a city of islands" Benvenuto explained sitting on the bench between them "I should leave again in some days, too"

"What's your job?" Marcello asked

"Goldsmith. I work with metals… which turns out to be useful for the Brotherhood if someone needs a…" he whispered _hid-den bla-de_ "The one old Giovanni has is my own work, but lately I've been working on harquebuses, and Francesco is cooperating with me for a new kind of poison dart. I mean, I'm not as good as Leonardo da Vinci or Altair, but anyway I can make stuff out of their blueprints, and I'm quite happy with it"

The square had started filling up with people, and Benvenuto started changing the subject, talking about the artworks he had seen and from which he wanted to learn.

* * *

><p><em>It happened then.<em>

_Benvenuto was talking with nonchalance about lost-wax casting and other techniques, and in that very moment, Alessio appeared again._

_To be precise, he hadn't exactly disappeared: he was hiding in a sentry box on a roof, and he was watching us._

* * *

><p>"Marcèè! A' Marcèèè! RED!"<p>

Marcello sprung up, as Benvenuto muttered "Red? What _red_? I hope he's not insulting you…"

"Flavia, it's _that_ red!" Marcello quickly announced "Alessio saw red!"

He squinted and tried to focus. And he saw him, at the door of Tiziano's workshop, a man talking to the painter. A man with a dagger on his belt.

"Benvenuto, the man talking to Messer Tiziano!" Flavia whispered "Templar!"

"What the…?" Benvenuto mumbled looking where Flavia and Marcello were pointing "Oh, _cazzo_" he added, as the hand of the man in red stayed too much over the dagger.

Benvenuto rushed forward and activated his hidden blade. Before the Templar could notice him, he had the blade pressed against his throat and his hands behind the back. Marcello was the first to catch up with Benvenuto and took the dagger from the belt of the immobilized Templar.

Tiziano had stayed like if he had been petrified in the doorway of his workshop, while Alessio had descended from the rooftop and had gotten close to them with a smirk on his face.

"Good job, Marcello, and thanks for the bundles" he told him patting him on the shoulder "Anyway, I'm sorry"

"You already said it" Marcello grinned and hold out a hand "_Amici_?"

"_Amici_"

* * *

><p><em>Francesco could not help grinning when he saw us back that day: me coming before them, announcing that Benvenuto had captured a Templar killer, Benvenuto holding his prisoner, who had his wrists bound with his very belt and the ankles bound with string, Tiziano behind them, still shaken for what had happened, and last Marcello and Alessio, laughing together and patting each other's backs.<em>

_The following day, once darkness had fallen, Francesco ordered a brazier to be lit in the inner courtyard of Palazzo Seta._

* * *

><p>Francesco was officiating the initiation: Ugo had been asked in the beginning, but the former thief had declined, saying Francesco was the right person for that task.<p>

Alessio had received new clothes and he had been readmitted in Palazzo Seta, even if he hadn't revealed yet the reason behind his small thefts. The Assassins of Venezia had gathered in the small courtyard, and Flavia and Marcello had taken place near Jacopo in the novices' line.

Among the Assassins gathered around the brazier were Ugo, Giovanni and others Flavia had already seen in Palazzo Seta but did not know personally. Some of them were women.

Benvenuto was with the oldest Apprentices, but he already wore Master Assassin's clothes.

Francesco had stepped forward and started speaking. The first sentence he said was in a language Flavia did not understand, but it sounded very important anyway.

"_Laa shay'a waqi'un moutlaq bale kouloun moumkine_. The wisdom of our Creed is revealed through these words"

He heaved a sigh and shrugged, giving up for a moment his formal attitude.

"When I heard them for the first time, I would have never imagined that one day I would have repeated them to someone else, in this place and in front of these people. There was another generation, Giovanni, who is here with us, sucked his thumb in Firenze and the Borgias still ruled Roma. And now… let's take a look at ourselves. It's true, we're on the edge of a war, but when on Earth the Assassins haven't been? Maybe only when we were _in the middle_ of the fight. All of us have lost friends, brothers, sisters, fathers or children trying first to fight off the Borgias first, and now the parasites on the Habsburgs' apron strings. We have seen defeats and victories, we felt pain and joy, we have fought each other and then we have shaken hands. We have made mistakes, and learned not to make them again"

Marcello, standing next to Flavia, grinned, putting a hand on the hilt of the practice sword Francesco had given him back an hour before. Jacopo pretended to cuff him and Marcello let slip a laugh.

"Francesco, may I?"

Alessio stepped forward from a dark corner and took something from his new pouch.

A piece of paper.

It could not be the poster. The poster was under Marcello's bracer… unless…?

He was getting closer to them, and to Flavia in particular. He unfolded the sheet. It was a portrait of Papà… just, without the hood, and it also seemed quite new.

"That portrait was a waste on a wanted poster" Alessio murmured shrugging "I think… I think it's not so dreadful. Happy birthday, Flavia"

Marcello grew suddenly pale and clapped a hand to his forehead, grumbling something that sounded like "_How could I forget it_?"

"Well, the eagles have come home to roost" Francesco commented from the middle of the courtyard "Alessio, stay there, between Marcello and Jacopo"

Alessio fumed, but did as he had been told. He clashed with the kids around him, wearing his civilian's clothes while the others had novices' uniforms, but Flavia doubted it was for that he had showed displeasure.

"Benvenuto Cellini, step forward" Francesco said as Giovanni took a pair of tongs out of the brazier. On Flavia's right, a small boy grimaced, his gaze fixed on the hot point of the metal tool.

"Where other men blindly follow the truth, remember..."

"Nothing is true." Benvenuto answered with a seriousness Flavia had never seen on him.

"Where other men are limited by morality or law, remember..."

"Everything is permitted." Benvenuto finished the sentence.

"We work in the dark to serve the light. We are Assassins" Francesco resolved as the tongs closed on Benvenuto's left ring finger "Nothing is true, everything is permitted."

As the bystanders repeated together the words of the Creed, Flavia's thoughts instinctively went to Papà.

It seemed impossible that she had ignored for almost a life the scar he had had on his finger. Who knew in which lost spot of the world the Assassins had marked his hand and made him repeat those words.

She liked thinking that maybe it had been just there, in Venezia. In a certain way, she felt him close again, and going by Marcello's grin, he thought the same thing, too.

Benvenuto was done: he was clutching his marked hand, but he smiled. Francesco patted him on the shoulder and pointed him the door.

"The Leap of Faith" Alessio explained smirking "_You'll see now_"

He started running and gestured to Flavia and Marcello to follow him. The Assassins were heading to Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari. Under the bell tower someone had stacked a large pile of hay.

"_Aspetta_… you mean they'll have to land _on this_?" Marcello commented in a worried tone "I mean… Giovanni got a bullet in his leg!"

"And he's been walking properly since we left San Secondo. Calm down, Marcello. If he feels like, he feels like. By the way, when are you leaving again?"

"We're heading to Abano tomorrow. Maria and Mino will go back to Firenze tomorrow morning… well not really Firenze, they have a countryside villa but I don't remember what's the name of the town… San Piero or something like that. Giovanni says that as soon as we leave again, he'll teach me how to use a hidden blade"

Alessio whistled.

"You, Flavia?"

"Francesco wants to spend some months in Pieve, but he hasn't decided when we'll leave yet. Mamma should come with us, as eventually we'll be back to Roma. What about you now?"

"I… I don't… know"

"You cannot keep getting by like this!" Marcello replied "Alessio… you see the colors!"

"_Anyone_ sees the colors, Marcè"

"No. Not anyone" Marcello resolved shaking his head in denial "Maybe it's just the three of us in the whole Italia. And I don't mean colors like the sky is blue and the grass is green. I mean colors like you see me and Flavia blue and who would hurt you red"

"Are you sure?"

"Do you know who else could see like that? All the great Assassins did. Like Altair the reformer. Or my own father"

"And Francesco told me his first mentor, Perotto, could see that way, and Perotto was a descendant of Marcus Brutus" Flavia added "It must mean something, Alessio, something only the Brotherhood can explain"

Alessio looked at his own feet.

"Flavia, you remember Daniele, don't you?"

"What's Daniele got to do with you?"

"Well, his old man took me away from the friary, when I was about eight" Alessio explained "That night I wasn't feeling good at all… they had locked me in a closet because I kept escaping at night, and it was freezing cold in there. There were him, I mean, Ettore Sciarra, Francesco Vecellio and Beatrice Simoni. They asked me if I wanted to come and live with their Brothers, I answered yes, and they took me with them. Just, we were near some guards, some Germans there to protect German nobles, and I just sneezed very loud. Loud enough for the guards to aim and shoot"

"It wasn't your fault" Marcello intervened "You were ill, you said that. You can't control a sneeze. And you don't break the second tenet of the Creed with a sneeze, not when you're not even an Assassin. If Francesco didn't tell you a thing, no one's putting the blame on you"

As Marcello spoke, a figure cut through the air and landed in the haystack.

"Good evening" Benvenuto exclaimed emerging with hay in his hood and in the folds of his clothes. He stepped away from the heap and tried to shake the hay off his clothes the best he could.

Giovanni was the second to jump, he stood up quickly and ran off. He grinned and shook his head when he saw Alessio.

"You're always here, huh?" he told him "The falcon won't change his talons"

"I'm not here to watch" Alessio replied

He heaved a sigh, then he got close to Benvenuto.

"You said you would have considered taking me as your understudy if you would have been initiated soon" Alessio told him "Do… do you still want to?"

* * *

><p><em>Our roads parted again.<em>

_Marcello went with Giovanni to Abano Terme, Francesco, Mamma and I headed to Pieve di Cadore, while Benvenuto went back to his workshop in Roma, where the first thing he did for Alessio – that didn't make his day at all – was teaching him to read and write properly._

_From the first letters I received from him, it could be quickly understood how he felt, stuck with grammar behind a table while Marcello was learning how to use a hidden blade and I was handling crossbows. I replied to him telling that we wouldn't have been able to keep in touch, had he been illiterate, and, as far as I could see by the letters, his efforts increased._

_I had to wait for August to see Alessio again, and even more time had to pass before I was reunited with Marcello._

_We saw each other again in December. December 1526._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Ho capito, ho capito = got it, got it<strong>_

_**Suona bene = it has a good sound, something like this**_

_**Proietti = in Rome, it was the surname given to the "children of none". Another famous "orphans' name" was Esposito for Naples.**_

_**Ma bene = good**_

_**Giusto = that's right**_

_**Ma per favore! = literally, "but please". I think it would be rendered with pur-lease! Or something like that.**_

_**Cazzo = in this case, shit.**_

_**Gatta ci cova = "a she-cat is sitting on eggs", literally. Something's wrong. An English correspondent would be "I smell a rat"**_

_**Scusa = I'm sorry**_

_**Stronzo = asshole**_

_**Ciao, bambini = hello, kids**_

_**Amici = friends**_


	7. Fledging

_January the 1st, Assassins' Headquarters_

"_Alessio Falcone_. It's him, the guy who made that drawing, isn't he?" Desmond smirked dog-earing the page he had just read.  
>"Oh, the perspicacity" Shaun commented "That's it, that fold mark is the reason why I'll be damned if I give you the original manuscript"<br>"One question, Shaun. Giovanni de'Medici… it's not the first time I hear that name" Desmond mumbled covering his mouth with a hand "Like if I already knew him somehow… what was he like?"  
>Shaun switched a tablet on and typed some instructions on a search engine. The portrait of a dark-haired, armored man with a proud look filled up the screen.<br>"History gave us the image of a merciless man, but most of the information we have about him have been faked by Templars first, and by fascists then, though it's always of the same kind of people we're talking about, so there's not too much of a difference" he explained scrolling the screen down "We have volunteers in the Order who willingly strapped themselves to the Animus to gather useful data for research. One of them, a descendant of Marcello, gathered data from Ezio's memories, something you would have never been able to see as the Animus would have directed you to Flavia who would have been born in three months…"  
>As Shaun looked for the file, Desmond could not help thinking about how much would have been at least embarrassing living the memories of <em>a girl<em>.  
>"… but here it is, Aqua Marcia aqueduct, Roma, March 1513, here comes Giovanni <em>without<em> Bande Nere"  
>He played the movie. Ezio was walking alongside a visibly pregnant Sofia, while in front of them had just passed a boy with apprentice clothes and short dark hair.<br>Another boy, with longer hair and the facial traits that slightly reminded the Borgia, waved to Ezio and bid him a nice trip. He was bound to be an apprentice, too, as he had called Ezio Mentore.  
>Ezio greeted him back, but then he stopped and looked back. Behind him, the short-haired boy, Giovanni de'Medici, had stopped on the spot, and he was likely torn between the decision to turn or to restart walking.<br>After a few moments, he restarted his march.  
>Shaun closed the video and shrugged.<br>"The boy who got us these data was really close to meet your same sticky end. Born in 1990, US citizen… and descendant of Marcello. And believe me when I say the kid has gone through a lot. At the age of twelve he had already killed a man"  
>"Who, the… <em>eaglet<em>?" Desmond smirked  
>"Don't joke about it. Rebecca and I assisted Jack Newell before Lu… before you arrived. He was… twenty, twenty-one when he collected the data, and we caught him several times crying or acting like a twelve-year-old. And just to confirm you what I'm saying, the Abstergo recruits that go through five-years-old Giovanni Borgia's Data Dump end up in a spin for a few days depending on their age. And the Data Dump Scanner is nothing compared to the Animus!"<br>"Let's get back to the point. Medici… died in battle, right?"  
>"Wrong. He died in his bed. In his <em>very<em> bed. And no, before you ask, some idiot germs killed him" Shaun resolved "His son Cosimo, little Mino, died in his bed too, but he outlived many of his children. A descendant of his got married almost two years ago, and with all the media uproar, I highly doubt you wouldn't know about it"  
>"<em>Media uproar<em>? You're not talking about your Prince William!"  
>"I <em>am<em> talking about the Duke of Cambridge. Descendant of the Medici on his mother's side"  
>"Rebecca is right, you know too much"<br>"You'll never know too much, Desmond. More you know, more you have to learn. Knowledge grows along with the ignorance, or better with the knowledge of ignorance, like Schlegel said"  
>Desmond fumed and counted up to ten. His past experiences with the spectacled Englishman suggested him it was better to swallow his reply and change the topic of discussion.<br>"Do you have all of Newell's data in there? I'd like to see his face on something that's not those doodles…" he asked  
>"Those <em>doodles<em>, Desmond…"  
>"Okay, got it, save the lecture and show me the movies"<br>Shaun scrolled down some pages and opened a file. A boy, about eleven or twelve years old, with red hair streaked in yellow, likely for hours spent training under the sun, was climbing on the wall of a small countryside church.  
>Desmond noticed with a grin he was using his father's hookblade to get a grip. The kid still had short arms, maybe he would have hit puberty in a few months, but his father's old weapon allowed him to climb easily as a fully-grown man would have done.<br>"This happened some months before the Battle of Governolo" Shaun explained "In that period, it was Marcello who… let's say, kept a journal. Pietro Aretino ordered him to. By the way, it was his first report attempt, and Flavia stuck it in her memories along with the letters she retrieved. I think it's just past that fold mark"  
>Desmond opened again the copy of the old diary, unfolding the mark he had done in a way Shaun could see, and restarted reading.<p>

* * *

><p><em>October 21st, 1526, Ducato di Milano<em>

_Today I'm twelve years old._

_We are retreating from Milano, and for the first time I'm riding a horse on my own._

_We have just stopped for the night, I thought Giovanni had forgotten my birthday (and who would have blamed him? There are things far more important than it!) and instead the first thing Giovanni did after we got off the horses and set up the tents was pulling my ears!_

* * *

><p>Chapter 6<p>

Fledging

"… and twelve! Someone is becoming a man, huh?"

"Giovanni, please! I was writing!"

"Pietro got too many tongue-lashings from your zia, in my opinion" Giovanni replied tousling Marcello's hair "I mean, he is supposed to keep score of the facts!"

"He says I have to learn to do this, too, and by the way he's doing it, too" Marcello replied finishing writing _ears_ "And by the way… Papà used to write, too"

"But if you've seen him doing it, it must have been for sure when he had nothing else to do. You're a young boy, and a fighter. The only reason why you should write would be to keep your family informed on what you do"

Marcello grinned and wrote one more line.

_Giovanni doesn't like too much the fact I write._

"What have you written, eaglet?"

"The truth"

_It would be better if I practiced with the sword instead for him._

"This is not true!"

"Not true? Isn't that what you tell every day?"

"You should not reply in that way to your mentor, young man!"

"_Giovanni…_"

_I don't like very much being forced to write, but Messer Pietro says that if I won't do it, he'll tell Zia Claudia Giovanni makes me climb bell towers and then go down with a rope._

"Aha! _This_ explains everything!" Giovanni smirked as Marcello laid down paper and pencil "But I wouldn't show that to your zia"

"Big deal, she'll hit the roof even if she reads only Messer Pietro's" Marcello replied "I doubt she'll be glad to see you once she knows what you did in Milano"

He stood up, attempting an impersonation of Giovanni's challenging stance, and jabbered "Who's driving us awaaay?" holding the pencil as he would have done with a sword.

"Not even close, you still chirp too much" Giovanni chuckled sweeping his foot against the boy's heels. Marcello fell with his bottom on the ground.

"When you'll have a man's voice, I don't want to see you falling down like that, huh?" Giovanni resolved as Marcello stood up

"Any news from the Brotherhood?" Marcello asked retrieving paper and pencil

"As it seems, Francesco and your zia are working together to improve our espionage, and that Ariosto dormouse, too, is doing something. The Duca he's working for, Alfonso d'Este, seems to be in good terms with His Holiness, but Ludovico has sent more than a letter telling not to trust him too much. He says it's likely something fishy might happen, and believe me, even if I know a son of Lucrezia Borgia who's a truly irreproachable man, the fact that viper didn't pass her rotten blood down to Alfonso's children is highly unlikely"

"Maybe she got it rotten once she started flirting with her brother" Marcello chuckled making a meaningful gesture "So it wasn't so rotten it could be passed down before"

"This is it. Spoken like Ezio Auditore's worthy heir" Giovanni resolved giving him a clip on the ear

"By the way, how did you know my father?" Marcello asked sitting on his camp bed

"When I was a very small boy I went to Monteriggioni with my mother" Giovanni explained sitting next to him "Or better, I should say your aunt _saved my life_. As we were there, the city was attacked, I was sleeping with your cousins, and she pulled the three of us out of the room with breathless haste. Luckily Giampiero was already awake, and he had your age, he looked after me and Enrico until we were safe"

Marcello looked at his left wrist, the one on which he had started carrying the blade. He looked at Giovanni again.

"It's for this you joined the Brotherhood?" he asked "Life debt?"

"Not really" Giovanni said standing up to put his broadsword under his campbed "I had seen what the Templars had done to my mother, to the people, to my older siblings. My mother had been jailed because she had helped the Assassins, and when she came home she was the shadow of herself. I kept telling her I would have fought, but she didn't want me to, guess why"

"Papà said so, too" Marcello confirmed as Giovanni sat again "He said my sister and I could not decide until we would not have known enough to make a true choice"

"I was your age when I chose. Or better when I ran away from home" Giovanni told him "Just, I was nowhere near stealthy as you are now. The guards got me five or six times before I could arrive in sight of the city gates, and the seventh time, the man who became my mentor seized me by the collar of the shirt"

"Who was your mentor? The Bartolomeo you talk about sometimes?"

"Wrong, eaglet. Not Bartolomeo d'Alviano. He was, he _is_, an old acquaintance of yours. Enrico told me you consider an uncle the person I'm talking about"

"_Zio Niccolò_? Zio Niccolò was your mentor?"

"That's right. And I think you'll see him soon" Giovanni resolved "If everything is all right, our next destination will be Roma, and I'm planning to stop in Firenze to visit my family. By the way, at my villa in San Piero there's a turret that's just fantastic to jump from. Maybe you can try, if you feel like"

"Maybe next year. If Zia Claudia finds out, I'll end up in trouble"

One of the cooks of the army entered with what seemed a pot full of soup and four bowls. _Good_, it was mealtime.

* * *

><p><em>Two years ago, I didn't think I would have been so happy smelling soup.<em>

_The first days I just turned up my nose, and Giovanni was forced to teach me that lesson in the most harsh way, the only one he could use: hunger._

_There was nothing else. That was that. Either I ate the hot soup, or I ate it cold, and in the first days I usually surrendered when the soup was already cold._

_I mean, the first day I had thrown a tantrum and spilled the contents of my bowl in the snow outside. I'll never forget the slap not Giovanni, but MESSER PIETRO, gave me, and I had definitely deserved it._

_By the way, he's here now. HE is glad I'm writing. There's Lucantonio Cupano too, Giovanni's new lieutenant. He's not a Brother, but he's an ally of ours, like Richard was._

_We dine together as usual, Messer Pietro tells one of his dirty jokes about courtesans, and he makes everyone laugh. I almost spilled my soup, but luckily it ended all in my belly and not on my clothes._

* * *

><p>"Well, I guess we'll have to thank Marcello here if there was meat in the slop" Lucantonio commented "You keep getting better at keeping a look-out for partridges, don't you, lad? You should shoot at some boars, too, before you turn thirteen, at least there could be enough of it to make it roasted and not boiled in the soup"<p>

"He'd better shoot at some _swine_" Giovanni commented putting his bowl away "By the way, Marcello, what Lucantonio says about your skills is true. It seems you were born with that gun on your wrist"

"I'm trying my best" Marcello shrugged "And by the way some days ago I found some chestnuts on the ground, remember…?"

"It doesn't matter you trying to bring more food to the camp" Giovanni resolved "You're fledging, eaglet. What you need to do is learn how to hunt"

Marcello nodded and set his bowl aside.

"You should go to bed now. Tomorrow we're leaving at sunrise"

"Just one moment"

* * *

><p><em>I'm glad I'm twelve. I'm becoming a man.<em>

_This life is not easy, but I like it. I hope it never changes._

* * *

><p>Marcello was already under his blanket and he was up to close his eyes when he saw Giovanni picking up his pencil and scribbling something under his journal.<p>

_Hope it never changes YOU, eaglet._

* * *

><p><em>November 4th, 1526, Roma<em>

_Dear Marcello,_

_I received your notes and I did NOT let Zia Claudia read them, as you asked me._

_Here we are all right, Mamma's bookshop is in good business, but at the Guild there have been some problems because as it seems Checco Savona has revealed the position of the Headquarters to some street urchins, who broke in at night and got whatever they could, cloth, food, and money. Ricoveri threw Checco out and took him blindfolded to Ostia._

* * *

><p>"I'll eat my hat if it wasn't Attilio" Alessio grumbled fiddling with his pencil.<p>

"Who is Attilio?" Flavia asked as Alessio restarted working on the hidden blade sketches Benvenuto had ordered him to do.

Alessio laid the pencil down and pointed at his own eye.

"The one who made it black" he explained with a bitter grin "The one who broke my tooth. Practically, he's the chief of the kids in the Ancient District. If someone finds food and eats it, Attilio _lo mena_. If someone has new clothes, Attilio first snatches them and then breaks his nose. He must have six or seven boys he commands like a Templar, and as I stood up to him…"

He bent over his work again and traced two more lines.

"Before Venezia I thought that if I thrashed him, I could have helped the other kids. If I make him squeal, the others won't fear him"

He finished the sketch and laid the pencil down, then he picked up the bracer he had cast aside and fastened it to his forearm.

"It still feels weird" he commented activating the hidden blade and looking at it "But maybe in the end it's right. I'm doing what my old man used to do, aren't I?"

He retracted the blade and tidied up the papers on the desk.

"How is Marcello? I've heard they're coming back"

"That's what he says" Flavia answered "But I have a bad feeling about this, something tells me the Habsburg troops won't stop in Milano"

"And obviously the Bande Nere will be stuck up there" Alessio resolved picking a package from a corner "I should go, Benvenuto asked me to deliver these candlesticks at a bishop's palace"

"I'm coming with you, I have nothing to do at the moment" Flavia said as Alessio raised his hood with a hand.

Winter that year seemed eager to arrive, but that day seemed an exception: there was a mild sun that, even if it did not make the air warmer, had encouraged many people to leave their houses for the streets.

There were some girls who were about Flavia's same age who were frowning at her because of her clothes. Flavia had been used to those looks since she had joined the Order, but this time she noticed they weren't looking just at her.

"… with all the girls in this city, he hangs out with the tomboy" Flavia heard from them before they fell silent because Alessio had looked daggers at them.

Once they had turned a corner, Alessio looked at Flavia and shook his head.

Flavia started laughing. Alessio did, too.

"The silly geese!" Alessio commented once he had stopped laughing "_Col cavolo_ I'd date anyone of 'em! Did you hear 'em? _With all the girls in this city…_" he mimicked them in a squeaky voice.

* * *

><p><em>It's just like two years ago, remember, Marcello? These are the last sunny days. The cold will arrive soon here, too.<em>

_The Guilds are organizing some plans of resistance and evacuation in the possibility of an attack. Reassure Giovanni: Zia Claudia trusts him indeed, now more than ever, but she thinks this war might be won in the worst possible way, betrayal._

_She keeps saying we should expect this and more from Templars, she keeps repeating that Nonno Giovanni was captured only when a friend betrayed him._

_By now, Zia has allowed me to go around armed: Francesco gave me his old hidden blade from when he was an apprentice, he told me to treasure it because it has been made by Leonardo da Vinci, like Papà's one (as Francesco told me, it was Papà who told him to ask Leonardo). There's also a peculiar crossbow on the bracer, so don't believe yourself to be who knows who just because you're already carrying a gun. All right, a hidden crossbow is not a gun, but Alessio says it's an unique weapon and he wants to try to make another one for himself. Daniele told him it's useless, trying to take something out of a Da Vinci invention, but Alessio started sketching and making measures to reproduce it._

_I've heard there are Romani caravans taking messages beyond the army lines, even from Constantinople, think about it._

_If they're taking news from the Holy Roman Empire, I just hope they're good news._

_Take care._

_Flavia_

* * *

><p><em>November 16th, Ducato di Milano<em>

_We are moving again. Firenze and Roma will have to wait._

_The Romani have sent us a message, and just in time too: one of their caravans has seen Frundsberg's men leaving the Tyrol, heading South, to Roma. Some of them understood the soldiers' language, some kids of my age told me they sounded like barking dogs._

_Giovanni and Messer Pietro are arguing. Messer Pietro says this time it will be worse, that someone else could end up dead among our allies, and even if Ariosto promised he would have sent another Assassin, Orazio di Giampaolo Baglioni, among our lines, this Orazio hasn't been sent here yet…_

* * *

><p>"<em>Insomma<em>, Giovanni, this is too dangerous for the kid! Do you know what is Frundsberg boasting about? He says he has a fucking golden noose with which he wants to hang His Holiness!"

"Since when you call the Pope His Holiness and you don't add an insult?" Giovanni replied without turning a hair

"When Claudia will know about it…"

"Claudia, Claudia and still Claudia. You're using the poor woman as a shield!"

"I thought it was normal practice in apprenticeship being told about Altair's fall" Messer Pietro replied "Or do you want to emulate him, ruin yourself and then set your sights on Ludovico's post?"

Messer Pietro was no combative man, but his satirical writer's job was bound to have taught him well how to hit the nail on the head using words, because Giovanni had suddenly blushed and, in the brief moment of silence that had followed Messer Pietro's words, Marcello could hear him counting to ten under his breath first in Italian and then in Latin.

"_Ascolta_, Pietro. We have the chance to get rid of Frundsberg once and for all. The _bastardo_ is old, they say he's sick, too, and the only two Templars on the field will be him and Charles of Bourbon, and as for Charles, Cellini and Falcone have already been ordered to get rid of him as soon as he comes too close. Cellini… and _Falcone_, Pietro."

"Falcone is old enough to shave, he'll be fourteen in four months!"

"And Marcello last year almost broke his nose, and he holds a gun like if he had done nothing else in his life!"

Marcello looked up from the page he was writing on and looked at the two arguing Assassins. He couldn't help feeling proud for what Giovanni had said about his skills with fire-arms, even if he would have preferred to overlook the reason why he had given his friend Alessio a nosebleed more than a year before.

"Marcello, would you like to go back to your family for a while?" Messer Pietro intervened turning to him

Giovanni rolled his eyes.

"Pietro, _per favore_!" he intervened

"To Roma? To Mamma and Flavia? _Why_?" Marcello skeptically asked "I thought we had to stop the landsknechts on the river. Isn't Frundsberg leading them? Are you sending me away?"

"_He_ is sending you away, eaglet" Giovanni said pointing at Messer Pietro "After all the battles in which you stayed quiet in the camp, you helped as you could and you always were all right, he wants to send you in Roma to twiddle your thumbs!"

"It'll be dangerous" Messer Pietro replied "If anything went wrong…"

"Marcello can take the bush better than the partridges he hunts" Giovanni resolved "Moreover… do you remember the poison bullets the very Cellini gave us, those delayed action ones he made with that poisonous weed Cosimo found?"

"_What's your game_? Do you want a child to shoot a Templar, using poison in the bargain?"

"When I was his age, Machiavelli sent me to drug patrols from a distance, at night, to allow wanted Assassins to leave the city" Giovanni replied "And I had to throw the darts with my bare hands"

"Georg Frundsberg isn't a dog tired guard!" Messer Pietro burst out "And Marcello is not a soldier!"

"Very well. He's going to Roma" Giovanni said crossing the tent and sitting on his camp bed "But you now will give me a plan to make Frundsberg _requiescere in pace_"

"I thought you had to provoke and challenge him"

"Even if I did, he'd keep the distance and try to get some kind of artillery before he faces me. He knows I'm an Assassin. And he knows you are, too"

"So what?"

"He always escaped the fight when I chased his troops. Not only that, how many times did we find Spaniard or German killers in the grounds we just had conquered, ready to shoot me dead?"

"You always got rid of them before they could come too close"

"And they didn't need to come too close to hurt me, remember?" Giovanni fumed standing up and pacing back and forth "War no longer is what it used to be. Now the Templars only need chests full of money to get us fucked up. Money buys positions, positions buy powerful allies, and powerful allies buy armies. Not including the fact I've been using the money of the Brotherhood for days to pay my soldiers, when the Pope should be taking care of them. We have to get rid of Frundsberg, and in my opinion, no one but Marcello can do it. And you know why? Because he's _nobody_, no Templar still knows his name or his face."

Messer Pietro shook his head and hit the table with a fist.

"You're losing your mind!"

"Do you have another plan?"

"You are the fighter, Giovanni!"

"Do you have another plan? One better than mine?"

"The boy _is not his father_!"

Marcello stayed sat on his camp bed, trying to cringe as much as he could. It wasn't the first time he saw Giovanni angry, and he could stand him angry more than he could stand an angry Francesco Vecellio, but he had never seen him shouting that way at Messer Pietro… nor he had ever seen the latter shouting.

There was an endless moment of absolute silence, in which Giovanni shook his head and sighed, aware of how much he had let off steam.

"You're right"

He sighed again.

"He isn't his father"

He stayed silent for another moment.

"When he was twelve, his father skived off and wrestled other kids. He, on the other hand, crawls out of the camp without being noticed and shoots at partridges to thicken the Bande's meals. I'm not pushing him in things he couldn't be able to do. I'm telling this because I trust him."

He turned to Marcello.

"Listen, I should have told you what I'm up to tell you when we met in Roma" he said sitting on the camp bed near him "You have to promise you'll stay still and quiet until I'm done. You can get mad at me, do whatever you want, but first let me explain"

"If you had to tell me it before, why didn't you do it?" was Marcello's first question

"You were little. You were shaken up" Giovanni answered putting a hand on his shoulder "I didn't know how you would have reacted, I hardly knew you. I only knew I understood what you had gone through"

"Are you talking about your mother?" Marcello told him

Giovanni nodded, as he started clutching his hands on his lap as he usually did when he did not know what to say or how to say it.

"Did your father… ever tell you… about when he was young?"

"Before I turned ten, not too much, he only sang some songs" Marcello grinned "But after all the adventure with Jun, he also started telling me what really happened. The story I preferred was when he dressed up as a Frenchman."

"Did he ever tell you about Caterina Sforza?"

"Wait… wait… Caterina. Sforza. Let me think… she and her mercenaries defended Monteriggioni from the Borgia along with Great-Uncle Mario… but then depraved Cesare got her… and in the end Papà freed her. You're talking about her, aren't you?"

Marcello was planning to wait for Giovanni's answer when something struck him. Cesare Borgia had attacked Monteriggioni in 1500, when his cousin Enrico had been just a month or two old. Giovanni was about two years older than Enrico, and his mother had been captured by the Borgia when he had been a very small boy.

_Two and two together, Marcello. Two and two together._

"She was your mother, wasn't she?"

Giovanni nodded.

"Papà told me that before he met Mamma he had a crush on her. Like Mino with Flavia. But he knew it could not have worked"

Giovanni's expression was undecipherable. He kept gesticulating in vain, and from time to time he tried to say something but stayed silent.

"When… well, when I was a kid, I looked up at your father like… well, he was the closest thing to a father I could imagine" Giovanni spoke after a while "Jacopo Salviati was my godfather, but as he wanted to arrange a wedding between me and his daughter, he always distanced a bit from me, and Niccolò was my mentor, but he was nothing but a teacher for me, he didn't fill the void. When my mother was still alive, she tried in any way to keep my feet on the ground. She kept repeating that my true father was dead and no one could have replaced him. That she could no longer allow herself to look ahead after everything that had happened to her, and I was the only thing she had left. When I met your father, I was already an Apprentice and I would have turned fifteen in weeks… and I didn't recognize him. A good friend of mine had to tell me who he was. I was going to die of shame, believe me"

"Then what?"

"I pretended nothing had happened and decided it would have been better if I went my own way. The day after, my friend told me your father had looked back and had almost called me. After about three years… well, I met you, and already then you were as alert as an insomniac barn owl."

Marcello chuckled.

"When I met, I thought about a thing. We could have been brothers. Stup…" Giovanni was about to resolve, but Marcello raised a hand to interrupt him.

"You _already are_ my brother"

* * *

><p><em>November 20th, San Niccolò Po, near Mantova<em>

_Borgia,_

_If I come to know you're still wasting your brains on that Piece of Eden – or on what you call a Piece of Eden – I don't care about the landsknechts or the Templars, I'm coming to you and smashing that bloody skull on your empty pate!_

_All joking aside. When are you getting an apprentice? You know, you could end up doddering in a bed with no one who ever called you master!_

_Mind you, Marcello does not call me like that. Believe me, the boy is a blessing, and not just because he's good with weapons and alert as very few kids are._

* * *

><p>Giovanni weighed the quill in his hand and looked at a sleeping Marcello, nothing more than a copper brush emerging from a heap of blankets.<p>

_You already are my brother._

How could five simple words make him feel like that?

Giovanni really could not explain it.

He had expected any kind of reaction from his apprentice, but not _that_. He had expected him to get angry, maybe to say he wanted to get back to Roma, or that he considered what Giovanni had said an offense to his father's memory.

On the contrary, he had called him brother.

Maybe, Giovanni thought as he added one more line to the letter for his homonym friend in Basel, he should have expected that, considering the fact Marcello had hugged him in Firenze, when he was almost two years old and he kept calling him "Vanni" as he could not speak better.

His eighteen-years-old self would have never expected to see that little dwarf turning into a _big boy_, hunting partridges and woodcocks to help the army, and having the skills to shoot an enemy dead with a poisoned bullet.

Maybe, in some years, they would have started talking to each other like two old friends, patting each other's shoulders and exchanging playful invectives.

He would not have needed to hold himself back as they sparred not to hurt Marcello, on the contrary, maybe he would have had to watch out not to get hurt.

Maybe in a year, Marcello would have been a lot taller. In two or three, he would have had to start shaving. In six, he would have definitely had the looks of a fully-grown man. His breaking voice would have been just the beginning.

* * *

><p><em>I still can't believe he called me brother. Sometimes I ask myself where has gone the little one who kept tugging at people's clothes, or the kid so shaken he could burst out crying for nothing or threw a tantrum because he didn't like the food. It's funny, thinking I made him change in these last two years, but then again, this could explain why he… oh, well, I'm acting as an idiot, aren't I?<em>

_It has started snowing, and the scouts have seen some of the German troops north of here. We have to break down the nearest bridge as soon as we can. It will be quite safe as long as there are no enemies around, so I bet that is going to be the baptism of fire for Marcello._

_Pietro still disagrees with me. He does not understand I have no choice._

_Really, Giovanni, I'd stand between that boy and a sword if I had to, but if Orazio Baglioni isn't coming soon, and he ISN'T coming soon, my hands are tied._

_I could end up shot again, and then who will stop Frundsberg?_

_I hope you're well._

_Giovanni de'Medici_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Lo mena = wallops him<strong>_

_**Col cavolo = like Hell, again**_

_**Nonno = grandpa. I hope you have understood we're talking about Giovanni Auditore.**_

_**Insomma = all in all**_

_**Ascolta = listen**_

_**Bastardo = bastard**_

_**Per favore = please**_

_**Requiescere in pace = rest in peace. Infinitive mode, Latin.**_


	8. The Master's Footsteps

_November the 23rd 1526, San Niccolò Po_

_It's snowing. It's freezing cold. Yet, we're still marching on._

_We have arrived quite close to our enemies, there will be a battle soon. Today I took part in the fight, even if Messer Pietro hit the roof after it. But the only landsknecht I saw was a scout, and even if I shot I didn't hit anyone._

* * *

><p>Chapter 7<p>

The Master's Footsteps

The sun had not arisen yet when Marcello felt someone was shaking him and opened his eyes.

Giovanni was bent over him, already wearing part of his armor.

"Out of bed, little brother. We have a bridge to cut down"

Marcello kicked his blankets away, and immediately regretted it: it was damn freezing cold.

"Come on. It's nothing. Get dressed and you'll forget it"

Marcello picked up his jerkin at the foot of his bed, took his winter cloak from where he had added it to the blankets, and picked up his boots from the ground. In the last days, Giovanni had made him replace his former light grey clothes with darker ones, of which some were black.

He had told him he would have needed them if they would have had to move during the night; the soldiers' armors, too, had been burnished.

The tactic was simple, and partly taken from the Brotherhood's methods of tailing and attacking: cutting down the bridge, they would have forced the landsknechts to take another way and waste time, then they would have attacked the rear guards and the carriages of supplies, hoping that, in the impossibility to go on in that way, Frundsberg would have ordered a retreat or a direct attack.

If there would have been a retreat, at least in Messer Pietro's opinion, it would have been the best thing: the trouble would have been handed off to the Northern European branch, and the Bande Nere could have paraded home without any problem.

"I doubt the old bastard will retreat" Giovanni had said bitterly "He wants to see us gone as much as we want to see him stone-dead"

"As much as _you_ want to see him stone-dead" Messer Pietro had replied, but Giovanni had ignored him.

"Why is Orazio taking so much, in your opinion?" Marcello asked putting on his boots

"I don't know. And I'm even worried, to tell the truth. Someone could have slowed him down, if not intercepted… or _killed_" Giovanni answered as he finished putting his armor on "Soldiers from the Orient who cross borders like nothing. Killed Brothers. News that never arrive. Killers. Now Baglioni's disappearance… Marcello, I'm afraid there's a traitor in the Order"

Marcello gulped. He still had not forgotten what Flavia had written in her last letter. _His grandfather_ had died because of a betrayal.

"What do we do then?" he asked, his tone still the one a child would have had despite his broken voice.

"In your opinion, why am I putting you in the field and telling only Pietro?" Giovanni asked "The only way we have to keep moving is catch off balance the _puttaniere_ standing in our way"

"Giovanni, I'm afraid"

"You shouldn't be. Nothing will happen to you. You just have to wait for Frundsberg to show his Templar ass and pull the trigger. If he'll die before Christmas or later, nobody cares. The only thing it matters, it's that he never arrives in Roma"

"Not for that"

"For what, then?"

"I'm afraid for… for the others"

_For you_.

"The others will be fine. Heaven knows how much I'd like to warn them, Marcello" Giovanni resolved making his way out of the tent "But if we warn the others about a spy, it's quite likely the spy will know too, and _buona notte ai suonatori!_"

The camp was almost deserted: six soldiers had gathered just outside of the tent, axes in their hands. As he and Giovanni joined them, Marcello raised his hood.

"March off, men!" Giovanni announced lengthening his stride to take the lead, while Marcello trailed along behind him.

The soldiers didn't need to be told twice and followed the captain. Marcello recognized one of them as Sergio, the funny bloke on whose back he had stuck many signs in his first year with the Bande.

"So the captain thinks you're ready to show what you're made of, huh? Bravo Marcello!" Sergio commented passing near him before Giovanni shushed him.

"If something, _anything_, goes wrong, Sergio, you must take Marcello out of danger. Got it?" Giovanni then said

"_Signorsì_" Sergio answered

"Behind me!" Giovanni ordered heading to the edge of the road "Try to step exactly where I step. Marcello, between me and Sergio"

He started walking out of the road, where the ground was covered by a layer of snow. Marcello had to stride to step into his mentor's footsteps, but he managed to do it.

He was going to ask, either to Giovanni or to Sergio, the reason of that order, when his look fell on a peasant family crossing the snowy plain.

One, two, three tracks.

_Of course!_ Giovanni wanted to conceal their number!

Marcello kept striding. Giovanni, turning to him, shook his head and grinned.

The three peasants had stopped and were looking at them. One of them was a young girl, maybe of Marcello's same age, but he felt a life older, a world further.

It froze, and despite he was walking on snow someone had already trampled on, Marcello was pretty sure some of it had slipped into his boots, but no one was stopping, and for the line's good he could not stop either.

Giovanni and the soldiers stayed silent. Everything looked so… unnatural. Strange.

Even more strange was the fact he would have had to get used to it, if Giovanni had called that sortie to the pontoon bridge on the Po river a "baptism of fire".

They kept walking for what to Marcello seemed hours when they saw it: the river. The bridge.

Giovanni gestured them to keep walking in a line until he put his feet on the wooden planks.

It wasn't the first bridge Marcello saw, quite the opposite: compared to the ones he had seen in Firenze and Roma, that one was definitely _dreadful_, despite both Arno and Tevere rivers were nothing compared to the river Marcello was near.

It was just a long row of boats floating on the water, on which there had been laid some planks and a railing had been built in a slapdash way. It did not even look like a bridge an army could have crossed.

Giovanni was going to get the soldiers ready when a man on horseback, whom Marcello recognized as Lucantonio, arrived in full career, Giovanni's horse tied behind his.

"Captain de'Medici! We have sighted German carts north of here!"

Giovanni swore between his teeth, but he kept his composure.

"Sergio, you take command" he said unbinding his horse and mounting on its back "Make sure the bridge is useless and go back to the camp the soonest possible. Marcello, if cutting the ropes is not enough…"

He fumbled in a pouch and pulled out what Marcello recognized as a bomb, then he put it in his hands.

"Be careful. It might make a building go down"

"It's going to be all right, isn't it?"

"You just have to put it in the middle of the bridge, get far enough and shoot. See you at the camp"

"See you soon" Marcello resolved holding the bomb with both hands and putting it carefully in his pouch "… _insieme per la vittoria_!" he resolved raising the wooden sword he still carried as a salute.

"_Insieme_!" Giovanni grinned drawing his and leaving with Lucantonio.

"When will you have a _real_ one?" Sergio commented as Giovanni vanished in the chill mist

"He'll decide, I think" Marcello answered indicating the captain's profile

"It will be quite soon, in my opinion" Sergio resolved "All right, let's smash this _merda_ into pieces" he told the other soldiers "Marcello, you stand guard, as it seems you're better than me at it"

While Marcello, sitting on a boulder on the riverbank, looked around, the soldiers had raised their axes and started slashing the ropes holding the bridge and part of the railing.

They had almost taken away a large portion of the bridge when the profile of a man on horseback stood out in the mist. Marcello knew enough about armors to identify him as a German.

"Sergio! SERGIO! _Lanzi_!"

From his position, Sergio ran to the river bank, raising his harquebus and firing. The enemy soldier, probably a scout, ran away.

"Merda!" Sergio burst out as the soldier disappeared "There's no time, he could come back with friends. We must blow up the bridge before they come back. Marcello, take out the captain's surprise"

Marcello pulled out the bomb and gave it to Sergio, who placed it in the middle of the bridge making sure it did not roll away and gestured to the other five to get away quickly.

As soon as everyone was on the river bank and had taken places in a way they could not have gotten hurt by the explosion, Marcello leaned behind a tree like Giovanni had taught him, extracted the hidden gun and hung out from his safe spot just enough to aim and shoot.

He closed his left eye. He made sure the gun was directed at the bomb.

He pulled the trigger and instinctively hid again behind the trunk.

The first thing he noticed was the bang, so loud it made him cover his ears with his hands despite he was well aware the gun was still warm.

"What a bang, _ragazzo_!" Sergio exclaimed coming out of his hiding spot "I'd challenge anyone to cross the Po on _that_, now"

Marcello left the trunk and looked at his handiwork: the explosion had reduced boats, planks and railing in splinters more or less big in the spot closest to where the bomb had been, but the blast had also snapped the ropes and the poles that kept the wood together where the soldiers had already started slashing, and a big portion of the bridge had been ripped off and the current was taking it away along with the splinters.

"They should learn to use stones next time!" Marcello chuckled as he joined the soldiers' jokes.

"Let's get back to the camp now, and quickly" Sergio resolved gesturing to move "Before the place fills up with onlookers"

The homeward journey was calmer than the outward one: despite Sergio kept repeating to walk at a brisk pace, in case the enemy scout had actually decided to return to the bridge, the soldiers' mood was pretty good, and another one of the five, Carmine, at a point had patted Marcello on the back telling him he had eagle's eyes.

"Just wait 'til he starts fighting with us!" Sergio commented "In my opinion, enemies won't even get close!"

"Well, three more years and no saint will hold, not even our _San Pietro_!" Carmine resolved

"It's not him you have to worry about, there's a Madonna in the higher ranks" Marcello joked

"Really?" Carmine asked

"Sì. My aunt"

"Well, your aunt should belt up. You're not an… _eaglet_ any longer, not even the captain calls you like that anymore" Sergio resolved as they arrived in sight of the tents of the camp.

Once they were back on the road, Marcello ran to the captain's tent, hoping he could find him there. There was only Messer Pietro instead, busy writing another of his reports.

"Where's Giovanni?" Marcello asked Messer Pietro

"What, weren't you with him?" Messer Pietro replied glancing up

"Lucantonio went for him, he told him there had been sighted some supply carts of the landsknechts" Marcello explained "I blasted the bridge, Messer Pietro! _Me_!"

"When Giovanni comes back, _mi sentirà_!"

"Wish I could have a coin for every time you told it…"

"And don't you dare taking leaves from his book! I preferred you when you were ten!"

"When I was ten I used to get nowhere with the _Purgatorio_"

"Tsk, you give a novice to someone like Giovanni and that's what you get!" Messer Pietro resolved "See if you can start studying, now!" he added pulling a book out of a bag "If you're ready to handle a bomb, I guess you'll be ready to learn what happens when you get too full of yourself"

He stuffed the book in Marcello's hands.

"This is not Petrarca" Marcello mumbled weighing the book in his hands "Didn't I have to read that poem about Punic Wars?"

"You're reading that now. And before Saint Andrew's Day, I want you to tell me all the events from the beginning to the end of part two"

"To the end of part…?" Marcello stuttered, taken aback by the unexpected burden "But… why?"

"If you looked at the title of that book, you'd understand, maybe" Messer Pietro said opening it to the first page.

_La Crociata Segreta._ The story of Grand Master Altair, the hero, the reformer of the Order, the man who had invented most of the Assassins' weapons and written the Codex.

Marcello found himself with nothing to do but opening his eyes wide and hugging Messer Pietro.

"_Grazie_, really, thank you very much!"

"Stop stuttering thanks and see if you can study it well, or the next book I'll make you read will be Aristotle's Ethics!" Messer Pietro told him pushing him back, but Marcello noticed he was grinning.

He had arrived at the point in which it was narrated the defeat of Altair and his companions in Solomon's Temple when from the outside the sound of hooves made him glance up.

"Get an urgent dispatch ready!" Giovanni exclaimed entering the tent.

Amilcare, the groom, hurried to help him take off his armor. Marcello didn't like Amilcare very much, but he had gotten used to ignore him. Messer Pietro was already enough for him as a makeshift nanny, and he preferred considering the latter more as a preceptor.

As Giovanni discussed with Messer Pietro and Lucantonio, who had arrived just after him, the situation of the armies and started dictating to Messer Pietro a message for General Della Rovere, the commander-in-chief of the army of which Giovanni and the Bande Nere were just the advance guard, Marcello lowered his eyes on the book and started reading about Altair's return to Masyaf. He had just started reading Al Mualim's lecture when Amilcare picked up something from the ground right under the dummy on which he had Giovanni's armor and passed it to Lucantonio, who smirked and stepped forward.

"This is it! Such a reward for a soldier of these times!" he burst out getting close to the table "A harquebus bullet… squashed just like a coin!" he added, tossing the former bullet on the table near Messer Pietro's hand.

At that point, Marcello could not hold back and burst out laughing. Probably, it was just stupid, but… how could a lead bullet end up squashed that way?

"Colonel Cupano, the new firearms change the wars, but it's the wars that change the world" Messer Pietro replied weighing the piece of lead in his hand "As for you, Marcello, didn't you wish for a coin every time I say I'm going to rap Giovanni over the knuckles?"

"What did I do now?" Giovanni asked feeling involved

"More or less what Altair did in Solomon's Temple, but you could have chosen to stay"

"Everybody's alright"

"But something could have gone wrong, and you are responsible for your apprentice, Giovanni"

"There was Sergio with him"

"The same Sergio on whom you made Marcello stick a sign twenty times for lack of attention?"

"Aaw, _non rompere_, Pietro, Marcello is alright. Aren't you, Marcello?"

Marcello nodded and grinned.

"And really, don't you think he has learned it after twenty times?" he added

Pietro rolled his eyes.

"No, not two against one!"

Lucantonio let slip a chortle, Giovanni on the other hand finished taking off his armor and told Marcello to quit the book.

They got out of the tent again, and Marcello raised his hood again for the cold.

"Arturo!" Giovanni called towards a group of soldiers trying to get warm near a bonfire

"Captain?" a boy of about fifteen left the group and joined Giovanni

"Get your harquebus and follow me"

"_Signorsì_" Arturo resolved vanishing into a tent and coming back with his weapon

"_Bene_. Marcello, he is Arturo Spada. Arturo, I think you already know Marcello Auditore. Listen now. In the upcoming days, we could finally meet that Frundsberg bastard"

Arturo nodded.

"As things are now, we can stop him only if he's not expecting it. Now, Marcello will shoot, but I don't want the enemy's attention on him" Giovanni explained "As Marcello shoots, you'll be nearby and set off some powder in your harquebus in the same moment. I'll give you the signal. Then, we'll attack and you'll take Marcello out of danger"

"Out of danger where?"

"At the camp, if you can. Otherwise, in some town, in a calm place, an abandoned house, the matter is that you get as far as you can from the battle. First, try to practice shooting at the same time. I'll watch you"

Arturo was up to shoulder the harquebus, but Giovanni stopped him.

"Not yet. It would be useless, wasting powder before you find a bit of team spirit. Do you see those two empty barrels?" Giovanni asked pointing at two barrels which had been used to contain wine until some days before "At my signal, you'll have to hit them with a stick. When I'll hear just one sound… we'll use the firearms"

Marcello didn't need to be told twice and got one of the barrels, then he drew his wooden sword and waited for Arturo to get barrel and stick.

As soon as they both were ready, Giovanni raised his hand and took it to his forehead like if he was lowering an imaginary visor.

Marcello lowered his fake sword on the barrel, but Arturo was faster than him.

"Not right. Arturo, you must cover Marcello's noise, not forestall it. Try to understand between you two when's the right moment. I'm giving you the go-ahead, but it's up to you to decide together when to hit"

He raised his hand again. This time, Marcello was too fast.

"No, not yet! Marcello, _cazzo_, do you want to get caught? Again!"

They needed more attempts before Marcello and Arturo managed to make a single sound, and many more for them to understand they had to look in each other's eyes to succeed.

After the twentieth knock together, Giovanni decreed they were ready to use the weapons.

He led them to a clearing at the edge of the camp, where someone had placed a dummy with a sack full of dirt where the head should have been and the armor of a landsknecht official on it.

"Marcello, the gun. Aim for the face" Giovanni ordered "Arturo, don't put the bullet in, just the powder. At my signal, just like before"

It was another sequence of attempts, because pulling a trigger on two different weapons required different _timing_, Marcello's gun was a wheel lock one and Arturo's harquebus was a matchlock. But the team spirit the two boys had found hitting the barrels had not dwindled, and in a short time, the bang of the gun was totally covered by the noise of the harquebus, which also made much more smoke than the small gun, and at the dummy's feet a heap of dirt had piled up.

It was not that _aim_ was a problem Marcello could have had. Not after almost two years of training.

They had shot together for the fifth time, when unexpectedly Giovanni screamed "RUN!".

Marcello and Arturo stared at Giovanni, puzzled, then sprinted towards the tents. If the captain told to run… well, they had to run.

"All right, don't look in that stupid way at me when we'll be facing the landsknechts, but it went well" Giovanni joined them sneering "What's for sure, if you act like you did, Frundsberg will never see Roma"

* * *

><p><em>Arturo stayed for some time with me, and we talked.<em>

_He hasn't been staying with us for long, just a pair of months or less, he's not really part of the army yet. He asked me if it's true Giovanni is part of a secret society. I just replied Giovanni fights for people's freedom. Arturo has grinned and has told me he, too, joined the Bande to defend people like him from mighty people's abuse of power. Maybe if I convince him enough, he'll ask Messer Pietro to be taken as an apprentice, so Messer Pietro will stop being a royal pain in my and Giovanni's necks._

_Arturo also told me his father has a vineyard, but near Como, Pescarenico if I'm not wrong. He left there his parents, a younger brother and two sisters. I told him about my home in Fiesole, about Flavia, and about the bookshop Mamma now has in Roma._

_He's a nice guy. I think we'll become friends sooner or later._

* * *

><p><em>That was the last report Marcello wrote before we saw each other again.<em>

_I saw him again on November the 29th, in Mantova, in the house of an ally of the Order and old companion of Giovanni's._

_He was well… he hadn't gotten hurt, at least. His friend Arturo got away in a worse way, and when Marcello introduced him to us he had his left arm in a sling._

_But I had understood something was wrong when Marcello did not run to say hello like had happened last time._

* * *

><p><em>November 29th 1526, Mantova<em>

Flavia leant on the door of the room she had been told to look into and looked.

Marcello was there, as a matter of fact, sitting on the stool near the bed.

He had changed a lot since the last time Flavia had seen him: his hair was so short it stood on end, his clothes were, despite visibly dirty, quite new and dark, his face was less round and he had – it was impossible not to notice it – faint shadows under his eyes.

"Marcello?"

He turned his head. His stare had been almost absent, but now he was grinning.

"Flavia! You're here!"

The most definite change was his voice, not anymore the chirp of more than a year before but half way between what his voice had been and the little Flavia remembered of Papà's voice.

He stood up and turned to the man in the bed.

"… Vanni, I…"

"Go. _Va' pure_. I'm not running away"

"See you… later"

Marcello crossed the room, hugged Flavia and led her out. Before leaving the room, Flavia noticed there was a pile of blankets in a spot on the floor.

"How did you get here?"

"Pietro. As soon as he got news from the field, he sent messages to the whole Brotherhood. We rode day and night, Alessio and I had to sleep on the saddles while Francesco and Benvenuto led the horses for us"

"How is Mamma?"

"She is all right. You?"

"I… I am well" Marcello said lengthening his pace "But Arturo risked his arm. Giovanni wanted… the plan was that Arturo had to take me away. I took him away instead"

"How is he?"

"Arturo, you mean? The doctor says he'll heal"

"But… what happened, exactly?"

Marcello sighed and covered his eyes with a hand.

"Giovanni kept repeating it, in the last days. Someone gave us fake news, and held back Assassins who should have been with the Bande by now… a Brother betrayed us"

"A Brother… why didn't Giovanni tell us?"

"He feared his message could fall in the wrong hands…" Marcello resolved "_Francesco_. He's here, isn't he?"

"Sì"

"Take me to him. He's got to talk to Giovanni and Pietro, _now_. We have to catch the _puttaniere_ who betrayed us and put him to the sword"

Flavia had no words for her brother's anger and resolve. He visibly had taken some words from his mentor's vocabulary, which was more than plausible after two years spent with him, but what could have distressed him so much?

They made their way into the hall. Alessio was still with Francesco and Benvenuto. He grinned and waved when he saw Marcello, who waved back but not with the same enthusiasm.

"Messer Vecellio, you have to talk to Giovanni immediately, we have been betrayed!" Marcello announced in a grave tone "We have fallen into a trap. There's a traitor in the Brotherhood, someone gave us fake news, and Orazio Baglioni is not…"

"That's me!"

Marcello turned to a man who had just entered the room, a Master Assassin with his robes caked in mud and ice, an unkempt beard and shadows under his eyes far worse than his.

He had something on his shoulder, something that looked terribly like blood.

"That's not mine, _ragazzina_. Not all of it, at least" Orazio panted locking eyes with Flavia "I've been ambushed. After Ludovico gave me the task, in Ferrara, I've stayed there for a while with my apprentice to inquire on some loads on the salt boats going up the river. First we thought they were giving supplies to the Germans, and the first loads actually confirmed this, but then…"

"Falconets" Marcello interrupted him.

Orazio panted again.

"That's right" he told Marcello "Cannons. That Alfonso d'Este bastard gave them to the Kaiser's army, and you know why? So that asshole of his son can marry a fucking imperial princess!"

"If they… I… get 'em…" Marcello stuttered gnashing his teeth and clenching his fists so hard his fingernails cut his skin.

"_Calm down_!" Flavia intervened holding his wrists "What happened? Marcello, you can tell me. If you keep everything inside it'll just be worse. Did you get hurt? Did you see something?"

Almost without any notice, Marcello threw his arms around her neck and started weeping. It was a strange sound, almost _wrong_, now his voice was breaking.

Maybe he had kept it inside for days. Maybe he was not crying just out of grief, but out of anger, or maybe even out of fear.

Francesco, Benvenuto and Orazio were standing and watching, uncertain on the reason and on what to do. On the other hand, Alessio stepped forward, looked for a moment, then he got close to Marcello and put an arm around his shoulders.

"It's all right, man. All right"

Marcello sniffled and dried up his tears with a sleeve.

"He said… he said I'll have to continue with Zio Niccolò" he said sighing "Or… with Borgia… in Paris… if Zio Niccolò can't"

"Oh, _no_" Benvenuto intervened, as Francesco started running upstairs.

Orazio stayed silent. Maybe he did not know what to say.

Not even Flavia knew what to say.

That could explain Marcello's absent look, the fact he had hesitated before leaving Giovanni's room, his stuttering and tears, but Flavia just _could not believe it_.

Before they had met him in Roma, Giovanni for them had been a legend.

In her childhood, Flavia had never believed legends could bleed.

And even during her apprenticeship with Francesco, Flavia had never believed legends could _die_.

Yet, Giovanni dalle Bande Nere, the living legend on every Florentine's lips, was dying.

"You won't fix a thing weeping like a baby!"

Suddenly, Alessio had seized Marcello by his clothes and had shaken him.

"You call him your teacher, yet you don't seem to have learned a thing in two fuckin' years! People die every day, you idiot, you can't change this. Now if you're telling us what the hell happened before we arrived, we could actually be able to catch the asshole who got us stuck in this shit and send him to rot in Hell!"

Marcello locked eyes with Alessio and sighed.

"The Curtatone Gate" he said "Someone opened it for the Germans and shut it in our faces. And I think they knew we would have come for Frundsberg, though they thought it would have been Giovanni. Whoever was the traitor, as it seems he underestimated the apprentice"

Flavia could not help grinning when she noticed a hint of pride in her little brother's voice.

"So, what happened? Do you feel like telling us?" Benvenuto intervened

Marcello sighed again and stayed silent for a while. Flavia could understand him: telling the story would have been like living it again, and usually Marcello was quite unwilling to tell about bad memories.

"In the night between last Saturday and last Sunday, I was reading about Altair's mission in Jerusalem before sleeping, when Lucantonio got into our tent in full career…"

* * *

><p><em><strong>This chapter was the hardest ever. I even felt almost like crying at a point.<strong>_

_**Well, I guess I wanted it, I did decide to stick Giovanni in the story, and as he's an historical character, I knew he would have had do end like this.**_

_**The squashed coin scene is taken from "The Profession of Arms", a 2001 movie about Giovanni dalle Bande Nere, which very likely I'll quote again in the next two chapters.**_

_**Puttaniere = whoremonger. In a movie I've seen, Giovanni kept repeating that particular insult.**_

_**Buona notte ai suonatori = that's the end of it (literally, good night to the musicians)**_

_**Signorsì = Yessir**_

_**Insieme per la vittoria = we stand together (for the victory)**_

_**Insieme = together**_

_**Merda = shit**_

_**Lanzi = colloquial way in Italy to say "landsknechts"**_

_**Ragazzo = boy, young man**_

_**San Pietro = St. Peter. I kept the Italian because it's a double sense, as they're talking about Pietro Aretino. "No saints will hold" is an Italian common saying to say "there's no getting round it". And "la Madonna" is one of the way we refer as St. Mary – but as former "Madonna" of the brothel… I think you guessed Marcello's talking about Claudia.**_

_**Mi sentirà = he'll listen to me = I'll give him a piece of my mind**_

_**Purgatorio = purgatory, but in this case we're talking about Dante's work.**_

_**Non rompere = off my case**_

_**Signorsì = yessir**_

_**Va' pure = you can go**_

_**Ragazzina = little girl**_


	9. The snared eagle

_**Sorry for the delayed upload, I should have done this two days ago.**_

_**Well, my professor delayed an exam, so I have found myself with less spare time, and this should explain.**_

_**This chapter should have covered more events, too, but it was getting too long, and as I'm writing this story in two languages, I decided to postpone some of the events to Chapter 9 to prevent a long wait and erased scenes - this was far too important to erase stuff.**_

_**Anyway, I've heavily quoted the movie "The Profession of Arms" again (as Marcello would say, "Ma no, guarda!" - you don't say? -, as it's about Giovanni de'Medici and the Battle of Governolo) don't watch it if you don't want spoilers for Chapter 9, but I'm referring to the actors of that movie for the physical appearance of characters like Giovanni, Lucantonio, Pietro, little Cosimo and the freakin' Templar Frundsberg.**_

_**For the German sentence at a point, I asked a friend on DeviantART. I'll never, EVER use Google Translate, not when I can ask.**_

* * *

><p><em>In the night between last Saturday and last Sunday, I was reading about Altair's mission in Jerusalem before sleeping, when Lucantonio got into our tent in full career…<em>

Chapter 8

The snared eagle

_Night between November 23__rd__ and 24__th__, 1526_

_Camp of Bande Nere_

Marcello had never liked having to go to bed.

Since his early memories, bedtime had been accompanied by his loud complains, some arguments, and Papà's song expedient.

When he had started traveling with the Bande, the first night, no one had told him to go to bed, and Marcello had spent a good deal of time hanging around in the tent before getting drowsy. The morning after, Giovanni had awakened him at cockcrow, and only then Marcello had understood it all had been done on purpose to make him understand what would have happened.

The incident had not diminished his hate for bedtime, but it had made him what Messer Pietro called "get it together", and from that day on, Marcello had never let himself be found out of bed when the two Master Assassins were under the blankets.

In one of the other two camp beds in the tent, Messer Pietro was reading out loud some reports sent by Zio Niccolò, while Giovanni, in the other, was listening. Marcello paid attention only at times, much more interested in Malik's reply "Your presence here deprives me of both" to Altair's "Safety and peace".

Maybe it was better to call it a day. Knowing Giovanni, at the least signal Frundsberg could show his face…

"_Capitano_ de'Medici!"

The three words from outside were enough to make spring up the three occupants of the tent: Messer Pietro threw the papers on the ground and sat up, Marcello strapped the hidden blade to his wrist and Giovanni picked up his sword from a bedside table, pointing it towards the entrance.

"Who's there?"

"Lucantonio!"

Giovanni lowered his sword and Marcello did the same with his fists as the second in command of the Bande entered the tent.

"Frundsberg's garrison has been signaled on the way to Mantova!" he announced "They're escorted by a squad with Gonzaga's insignia!"

"Are you certain of the news?" Giovanni asked laying the sword down and sitting on the edge of his bed

"One of our patrols signaled them moments ago" Lucantonio resolved as Giovanni left the bed

"Are they moving _by night_?" Marcello commented picking up the book he had dropped "Get th…!" the remaining of the sentence was covered by his yawn.

"That Gonzaga vermin!" Messer Pietro burst out "First he pledges his allegiance to the Pope, then he offers protection to Frundsberg's Germans!"

"It's politics, Pietro. As Niccolò always says" Giovanni replied quickly getting dressed

"The main body of the army has already turned back, to cross the Po river at Ostiglia" Lucantonio protested "We cannot stop them!"

"We stop Frundsberg, we stop the war"

"But moving by night in this conditions, the greatest risk is the danger of swamps" Lucantonio replied as Giovanni, helped by the ever-present Amilcare, started putting on his armor "This is the thing that bothers the soldiers most"

"War is all a nuisance, my dear Lucantonio" Giovanni resolved "Cavalleggeri and harquebusiers ready to leave now. Marcello, get dressed, you're coming with us"

"Giovanni, _no_" Messer Pietro intervened "If you have to move the soldiers, don't take Marcello with you. Not at night. Not with this cold."

"It's Mantova we're going to, Pietro. If we're fast enough, we could even catch them before tomorrow." Giovanni answered retrieving his sword "Do you remember Luigi Gonzaga, the Marchese's cousin? He owes me one, he can play host to us for a night"

For once, Marcello would have liked to tell Giovanni he would have preferred to sleep for a while and wait for the morning to move, but the good of the Brotherhood came before bedtime.

He slipped into his boots and was up to put on his jerkin when Giovanni threw something on him. Marcello recognized the Assassin's robes Giovanni wore when they travelled incognito.

"Put it over your clothes. The night will be freezing, and the last thing I'd want now is a little brother with a bad cold."

"A bit of wisdom, _at least_" Messer Pietro commented "You'd have more if you called the whole thing off for now. Do you really think you could not even hit, but _spot_ Frundsberg with this pitch darkness?"

"_Figurati_. If it's true he has a golden noose strapped to his saddle, we'd see it sparkle from far away" Giovanni said as Marcello finished getting dressed "And even if we don't find him tonight, we must be on his tail as much as we can. If they leave us too much behind…"

His boast became a worried speech.

"Pietro, remember. We're the only thing standing between Frundsberg and the Brotherhood. Who knows what the fucking Templar could do if he managed to pass us and arrive in Roma?" he said keeping his gaze low "I'm sorry, there's no other way. If Orazio was here, I'd have organized an ambush from two sides, that would have worked. But we don't have Orazio. There's just the three of us"

Messer Pietro stayed silent, sitting on his bed, dubious about what to say and what to do.

"Never compromise the Brotherhood" Giovanni resolved, his voice hardly more than a murmur "Almost two years ago, I made a promise, Pietro, and I'll keep my word. I'd throw myself between Marcello and a blade if I had to, you know it well"

Messer Pietro stood up and crossed the tent. Marcello thought he would have given Giovanni another lecture, but he had to change his mind when the scholar picked a scarf from a pile of clothes and wrapped it around his neck and lower face.

"Go with him… if you feel like" he told him laying his hands on his shoulders "Don't put yourself in danger without a reason, run and hide if you see things are getting bad, and if the situation is calm, _sleep_, if you're going to end up in the fray it's better you end up wide-awake"

He looked in his eyes and stayed silent for a moment.

"Maybe you are really your father's son. But if it were up to me, I would have never wanted to find out so soon." Messer Pietro told him giving him a hug "Maybe it's just me still seeing you as the frightened child I met two years ago. But remember, the decision is yours."

"Messer Pietro, my father taught me we live for the others" Marcello said lowering the scarf "My sister, my mother, my friends… they're all in Roma. If Frundsberg eludes us, what do you think will happen? I don't want to lose anyone else, not if I can prevent it."

Giovanni and Lucantonio were already standing near the entrance of the tent. Marcello put on the scarf and the hood and joined them.

They had a battle to win.

* * *

><p><em>I don't remember too much of the journey… I was riding with Giovanni and I think I closed my eyes for a while… but despite Lucantonio's worries we did not end up in the swamps.<em>

_In the end I woke up at the Gate because Giovanni had started shouting. And then began the problems._

* * *

><p>The Curtatone Gate was just like many other gates Marcello had seen in his twelve years, one month and two days and a half. A gate, a moat, a drawbridge, surely some sentinels in strategic points.<p>

"Hey, you watchmen, open the gate! Lower the drawbridge!" Giovanni's voice broke the silence of the night

There was something wrong. Normally, there should have been some lit lanterns. There was no noise of steps where someone should have hurried to answer the call.

"It's Giovanni de'Medici, captain of the Papal Army, asking for transit! We're looking for Frundsberg's Germans!"

The only thing that answered to Giovanni was silence.

"_Open the gate_! Inform the _vicario_, make him give the order! In the name of His Holiness and the Christian King…!"

Marcello rode with Giovanni, and was muffled in a way his face was almost totally covered. The thing didn't bother him too much, as it was freezing, but he would have liked lowering his hood to see if some sentinels would have appeared on the walls.

"… and of the Almighty God, may he strike you all with his lightning!"

Judging by the fact Giovanni had abandoned common sense for the curses, as it seemed no one was coming.

What was happening?

"OPEN THIS GATE, BETRAYERS OF THE HOLY CHURCH!" Giovanni thundered out against the gate "Or tomorrow I'll cut your throat, starting from the _vicario_, and that Gonzaga _puttaniere_! _BASTARDI_!"

Some soldiers had started following the captain's example, and addressing alternately insults and rocks to the gate. Some spoke in dialects of this or that town that Marcello did not even know, but he could easily imagine what they meant. He would have liked to join them, but he knew that if there had been someone listening, he would have discerned a kid's voice among the men.

_Second tenet of the Creed: never put your enemy on alert._

They stayed in front of the Gate for what seemed hours to Marcello. No one rushed to them. No way to go.

"There's something strange here" Lucantonio commented "I don't think we'll get anything done for tonight. We'd better wait for the changing of the guard."

"We'll never catch Frundsberg if we wait for the changing of the guard!" Giovanni replied

"What else could we do? We're all tired, _capitano_" Lucantonio said "Tomorrow morning the guards will open the gate. Let the soldiers rest. Let's camp and wait for the sunrise"

Giovanni fumed, but he turned his horse and ordered the soldiers to turn back.

Near the gate, stood a small farmers' village.

There, too, something was visibly wrong. Even at that late hour, there were people gathered in the main street.

A man in a priest's cassock was staring, horrified, at Marcello's hood.

"Assassini! Assassini!" he shouted pointing at them "Here come more!"

Carmine fell out and jolted forward, his sword at the clergyman's chest.

"Show disrespect to our _capitano_ again, and I'll slash the stuffing out of you" he snarled

"_Aspetta_" Giovanni intervened leaving the reins to Marcello and getting off the horse "You said… more?"

"_Lontano da me, Assassino!_" the priest burst out

"Do you know at least who are you talking to?" Giovanni replied "I'm the _Capitano_ de'Medici, of the Papal Army. The boy with me is the son of a man I've always considered a father. The night is cold, and it's weeks His Holiness is not giving us wages. The clothes the kid is wearing aren't even his"

"Are you an Assassin _or not_?" the priest replied "Stop beating around the bush, _Capitano_. I want an answer. _Sì_. Or _no_."

"Carmine, sheathe your sword. This man is an innocent" Giovanni ordered "I let you free to believe in whatever you want to, father. We're just asking to stay here for the night. We'll leave the town at sunrise."

"Answer to me! Are you an Assassin or not?"

"Do Assassins raise a blade on someone who isn't a danger?" Giovanni resolved as Carmine sheathed his sword "Not a hair of these people will be hurt, I swear on my mother's blessed memory!"

"Better for you if you keep your word" the priest resolved, getting away with some of the villagers "If it's a shelter for the night you're looking for, at the border of the town there are some abandoned shacks. And if you just dare even knocking a door down to get firewood, be certain the _Marchese_ will know about it!"

"The _Marchese_ also should have known his beloved gate is barred and deserted" Lucantonio commented, sat in a corner of an old barn "Giovanni, seriously. If the wages from Roma will be delayed again, what do we tell the men?"

Giovanni, standing in the doorway, was restricting himself to look at the soldiers rallying around the fires attempting to defeat the chill of the night. Just moments before, he had had to stop a group of harquebusiers who, defying the orders, had attempted to throw in a bonfire the wooden crucifix of the church.

He had not done it for the Marchese, nor for the priest, nor for the very crucifix, he had said. He had done it because he had given his word.

"Even in Rome they know for sure that blessings without arms won't win any war" Giovanni mumbled "As much as despotic the Ancient Romans were, on one thing they were right. An united Italy. With all the whims and feuds of this or that Duca or Marchese, we're either a titbit for the Kaiser or for the Christian King. And to cap it all, His Holiness changes his mind at the change of every tide"

"You sound just like Pietro" Lucantonio sneered

"He's not so wrong, may… _yawn_" Marcello intervened from the small haystack where Giovanni had practically forced him to lay down.

"Talking about Pietro, didn't he tell you to sleep?" Giovanni turned to him with a smirk.

"Nothing is true. Everything is permitted." Marcello replied

"Fourth tenet of the Creed: never use it as an excuse to postpone bedtime!"

"But…"

"The Creed commands us to be wise, remember? The wisest thing you could do now would be to trust your mentor and to close your eyes"

Lucantonio chuckled.

"You two _do really_ look like brothers. You'll mislead anyone if you act like that"

Marcello sat up and made a broad smile.

"Lay down and _sleep_" Giovanni ordered pushing him against the improvised pallet

"At your beck and call, _Vanni_!" Marcello burst out in his mentor's same joking tone.

Giovanni's push stopped.

"How did you call me?"

Marcello stayed still and quiet, while Giovanni looked in his eyes.

"I said how did you call me?"

"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to show disrespect… I'll just sleep now, alright?"

Giovanni didn't get angry.

Giovanni didn't command him to sleep.

He grinned and tousled his hair with a hand.

"Ten years have passed since you called me like that last" he said "I didn't tell you to stop it then, why should it bother me now?"

"So… I'm not in trouble?"

"No, you're not in trouble. You can call me any name you want to"

"But what do you think has happened to the Curtatone Gate?" Marcello asked quickly changing the talking point.

"I don't know, little brother. We can only guess"

"But if the old priest has seen Assassins and there's no answer at the gate… what if the traitor is with Frundsberg now?"

"Tomorrow at sunrise the guards will change. We'll pass, we'll find the vicario and we'll find out what's happened. Now sleep. Tomorrow we will wake up at cockcrow, and it's already past midnight"

Marcello laid on the pallet, closed his eyes and waited to get to sleep.

* * *

><p><em>November 24<em>_th__ 1526, Curtatone_

When Giovanni's clap pulled him out of the dream world like every morning, initially Marcello winced, noticing the absence of the tent.

"It's all right, Marcello. We're in Curtatone, in the old barn. Get up, we have to move" Giovanni told him

Marcello stood up and yawned. He had not slept very well, but he had managed to sleep for a while anyway.

The fire of the previous night had been reduced to a heap of embers on which Lucantonio was pouring snow, and outside the soldiers were getting the horses ready to leave. Marcello made eye contact with Arturo, who was fumbling with his harquebus, and waved at him.

"We don't have much time" Giovanni told him freeing his horse and getting a small cloth bag from the saddle "Climb up, your breakfast is in here" he said tossing him the bag.

Marcello quickly examined the contents, stale bread and a slice of cheese, then he let Giovanni help him to climb in the saddle behind him and once he was sitting took the bread and started munching it.

"Have you already eaten?" he asked with his mouth full

"Swallow up before speaking!"

Marcello finished the bread the fastest he could despite the one or two gaps he still had in his grinding teeth and then he went in for the easier task, make the cheese disappear. He was finishing to lick off his fingers the smallest bits of cheese when they came again in sight of the Curtatone gate.

"Open this gate, _stronzi_!" Giovanni shouted once they were in earshot

Two guards rushed from the top of the walls and asked an agitated "Who goes there?"

Marcello noticed that more guards, _too_ many, were barricading on the walls.

"The Papal Army, sons of a bitch!" Giovanni burst out "It's Capitano de'Medici, and for your own good you'd better open immediately!"

"The Papal Army…" one of the soldiers stuttered "Open it, open it now!"

The gate opened almost immediately, and Giovanni dashed inside at once, taking his horse almost at full gallop.

"Where is he? Where is that _vicario _bastard?" he shouted towards the guard-house

"The _vicario_ is… he's dead, _messere_" a guard that judging by the uniform was bound to be an official said "We found his body at the changing of the guards. With the ones of the guards who did the watch last night"

"Dead? How?"

"Most of the guards have been put to the sword or shot with a harquebus, mainly" the officer explained "The _vicario_ likely has been stabbed, but if it was a dagger, it was one I never saw before today. Some of the guards, too, had similar wounds, mostly to the throat."

"We have proofs the Kaiser's army went through this gate" Lucantonio intervened coming forward "Maybe it was them who did this slaughter. Could we take a look…?"

"There's not much to see" the guard said shrugging

"Maybe we know what… _who_ killed the _vicario_" Giovanni urged

"_Bene_. Follow me" the guard said.

Giovanni got off the horse, helped Marcello and tied the horse to a ring hanging from the nearest wall, then he waited for Lucantonio to do the same and let the officer guide them to a shack near the gate.

"We have found them in here" the officer said pointing at some corpses someone had covered with cloths "The _vicario_ and all the guards stabbed in the throat, mostly officers, were also naked"

"Gonzaga guards… Gonzaga guards my arse!" Lucantonio commented spitting on the ground "Our scouts were convinced Frundsberg was escorted… and in reality… their escort was Mantuan like I'm a Turk!"

"Which of these were stabbed?" Giovanni asked getting close to the corpses

The officer looked under two shrouds, then he removed one. The man under it had been effectively stabbed in the throat, but the wound was too small to have been provoked by an average dagger. There was only one weapon that made similar wounds, and as chance would have had it, there was another strapped to Marcello's wrist.

"Vanni, can't it be…?"

"_Esatto_. The traitor has been here. As it seems, he'll show his ugly face soon"

"Do you recognize the weapon that killed our men?" the officer asked

"Sì, it's a particular dagger that some mercenaries carry. As far as I know, it has been imported from the Holy Land. Very hard to spot on a person, even more hard to forge, but in the right hands, _lethal_" Giovanni explained "The father of this boy was a master of that weapon, and I know many people who use it, all of them allies of His Holiness. I suspected someone had betrayed us for Frundsberg, but I did not expect to find him here."

He went out of the shack and untied the horse, then he helped Marcello to mount.

"Do you know about any place in which an army could take shelter?" he asked mounting in turn

"The ruins… near Governolo" the officer mumbled absent-mindedly "There are some old forges no one has used for years. Peons use them as shelter during the harvests in summer"

"Where can I find them?"

"Head south-east, you just need to run alongside the Mincio river and you'll find Governolo on the southern bank"

"We'll rip to pieces whoever has killed the _vicario_, I can assure you" Giovanni resolved spurring his horse "Let's go!"

* * *

><p><em>As that guard said… by the way, his name is Biagio Guarneri, we met him again… the Germans were heading towards Governolo indeed.<em>

_The more we pursued them, the more they ran. Arturo even told me they were hiding something, in his opinion._

_The next day, we managed to engage them in battle at least six times, and all the times, they retreated. Then, at a point, Giovanni decided he would have done things "the Assassins' way", he took off his armor and I gave him back his spare clothes… it was not SO cold as the night had been, and I would not have been able to use the blade with those long sleeves… and we ventured forward together to locate the ruins._

* * *

><p><em>November 25<em>_th__, 1526, Governolo_

As far as Marcello could see, the ruins of the forges were definitely the kind of building that could have been knocked down with kicks, or at least with Giovanni's kicks. It looked impossible to him that peons could use them as shelter, even in summer.

"Papà didn't let our hired workers sleep in crappy things like that" he commented in a murmur while he and Giovanni observed the ruins from a distance "We had built sheds on purpose"

"Not all the landowners are like your father was" Giovanni answered him in the same tone "Let's get back to the others, come on"

As soon as they were certain they were far enough from the enemies, Marcello lowered his scarf and sighed with relief.

"What a smoke! You'd make the Sistine Chapel envious, little brother!" Giovanni joked pointing at the puff of steam Marcello had just blown.

Marcello raised a smile and shrugged.

"What's up? Anything wrong?"

"I'm afraid, Vanni"

"_Ancora_? You've seen us yesterday, we made them leave their outposts, we got their supplies and left many of them on the ground!"

"I'm afraid for _you_!" Marcello replied "If the traitor is an Assassin, he knows you, he'll know for sure your weak spot or something like that!"

Giovanni stopped and looked in his eyes. His expression was the same of when he started listening to Messer Pietro's lectures.

"Maybe next time the bullet won't just squash, and what about me then?"

"Marcello… you shouldn't be afraid for me. I can do it. You heard our informers, Frundsberg doesn't even have artillery"

"Nothing is true, especially if there's a traitor around"

"Nothing will happen to me. It's going to be all right. I promise. And when all of this is over, we'll spend the rest of the winter in San Piero. Or in Roma, you decide"

"Sì, and what about the soldiers without wages?"

"That's the point, if we stop the war there won't be more wages to pay. And maybe, with a bit of breathing space, His Holiness will shell out at last"

"Vanni…"

"Listen, Marcello, fear is normal. The trick isn't not being afraid, it's being stronger than your fear." Giovanni explained "You mustn't let your fear rip you off. Even talking to someone could make you feel better. So, can you explain to me exactly what do you fear?"

"Losing… someone. Someone I'm fond of. Like Flavia. Or Mamma. You. Alessio. Zia Claudia. Messer Pietro. Zio Niccolò. Losing someone like I've lost Papà"

Giovanni looked at him and grinned, then put an arm around his shoulders.

"You know, when I was your age, I did not have so many people I feared I would have lost. Well… maybe Maria, we've known each other since we were kids. Or Niccolò, I got damn scared when they arrested him in front of me. I wish I could have done something more than getting exiled that day, all in all it was my family who had ordered him arrested... the ones who actually were anybody, at least"

"Aren't you?"

"Me?" Giovanni chuckled "Ha! After my father sided with Savonarola and my mother got arrested? No way, no way at all. Even Mino is more important than me, and I'm not joking"

He stayed silent for a moment.

"That's what I was afraid of. That's what I'm still afraid of. When you see things going wrong and you can't do anything. When I saw my mother helpless and I could not do anything but stand and watch. Not to be able to do anything is the worst thing that could happen to a man"

"How can you fear… helplessness? You're a Master Assassin. You're a Capitano. You can always do something"

"There's always someone above you, Marcello. There are General Della Rovere and His Holiness. There are the older Masters and the Mentore, and the thing would not bother me too much if Ariosto wasn't unable to teach even his own sons. Believe me, since Machiavelli got me as an apprentice, I learned one thing for sure: there's always someone crapping out on your head"

"Ariosto has sons?"

"Sì, I think they're called Giambattista and Virginio. Giambattista is about three years younger than me. They're both Assassins, but as far as I know, they hardly ever leave Ferrara"

"But if you say there's always someone crapping out on your head… don't Assassins fight to prevent it from happening?"

"_Appunto_. But I doubt we'll ever see the end of this"

They had gotten back to the place where the army was waiting for them. Lucantonio was pacing back and forth, turning from the soldiers to the direction from which Giovanni and Marcello were catching up with them.

The smell of cooked meat came from some bonfires. The marching army had this "privilege" because carrying some meat they could have roasted on spits or knives was far easier than carrying a pot full of soup, even if, as it seemed, it was not the big deal it could have looked like: Arturo had told Marcello that eating the same thing for too much time made his stomach close.

"Capitano! Are you all right?" Lucantonio walked towards them, visibly relieved

"We have found their camp!" Giovanni announced "They're not so far from here, in the ruins, just like the guard in Curtatone said. Tonight we're going back to the camp, Lucantonio… and soon, home!"

"Are we going back?" Sergio intervened approaching them

"Sì, we get Frundsberg and then we go back to the camp. Tonight, we'll sleep warm" Giovanni resolved as Lucantonio passed him a piece of roasted meat.

Giovanni tried to pass it forward to Marcello, but Marcello declined and said he would have waited for his turn.

They ate in silence, sitting on the ground, while the soil was covered more and more quickly in snow. No one dared to say it, but the worsening weather visibly disheartened the soldiers.

"Shall we arrange for return?" Lucantonio asked looking around "It's getting dark"

Giovanni wasn't listening to him. He had been the first to finish eating and had changed from Assassin robes to his condottiero's armor.

"There's still one thing to do before dark" he said in a solemn tone "Hunt out General Frundsberg. Two on the horses. Sergio di Gaspare, take Arturo Spada with you, Carmine Esposito, take Marcello, and _stay close_. Marcello, load your gun with Benvenuto's bullet" Giovanni said while the two soldiers he had called stood close and Lucantonio repeated out loud the orders for the rest of the troop.

Making two men ride a horse was one of Giovanni's best strategies, and in brief it allowed harquebusiers, who were an easy target for the long time it took to reload their weapons, to move quickly carried by cavalleggeri. It was a tactic that combined the deadliness of firearms and the speed of the horses, and it fully made up for the shortage of numbers in the Bande, making them the elite corps they effectively were.

Some months before, Marcello had defined it "lethal as an Assassin with a gun". What he had not known at the time, it was that he would have been the Assassin with the gun.

He was afraid.

Afraid to fail.

Afraid because everyone was counting on him.

He would have liked to tell Giovanni he was just a kid, and he didn't know if he could have done it. That shooting some silly bird was completely different from shooting dead a Templar, with a poisoned bullet in the bargain.

Now they were approaching the wolf's den, Marcello wouldn't have wanted anything more than jumping off the horse and running away.

_What would Flavia say?_, a voice in his head, that sounded a lot like Papà's, asked him. _What would Mamma say? What would Frundsberg do them if he arrived in Roma?_

Frundsberg was a Templar, an enemy. He would have harmed Flavia, if he could have done it. Or Mamma, for the simple reason she had been married to an Assassin. Or Zio Niccolò. Or Zia Claudia and his cousins, or Alessio, or Messer Pietro. Or… _Giovanni_.

The Bande Nere had drawn up in front of the ruins. Just outside the walls, the German pikemen and a group of officials on horseback had gathered.

Marcello just needed to squint to spot General Frundsberg's golden glow among the red of the soldiers.

Unlike Giovanni, who was twenty-eight years old and looked even younger, General Frundsberg was visibly aged.

Messer Pietro had told Marcello the Templar had seen fifty-three winters, but he looked much older. After all, the very Francesco Vecellio was fifty-one, and his hair was still mostly brown.

Georg Von Frundsberg had a completely white beard, as Marcello could easily see because his helmet did not cover the face, had a feather on it, so gaudy Marcello could have found him even without using what Giovanni called "eagle vision", and his armor was covered by a fur cloak.

"It's him!" Marcello heard Lucantonio, not so far from him, whispering to Giovanni.

Giovanni locked his eyes with Marcello and nodded.

_Stand by._

Marcello raised his arm and aimed pointing his fingers. Not so far, Arturo was watching him.

Giovanni and Frundsberg, the Italian and the German, the young and the old, the Assassin and the Templar, looked at each other for moments that seemed endless, then Frundsberg took a hand to his chest in what was bound to be a salute.

Giovanni unsheathed his sword – the sword Papà had given him ten years before – and made the same gesture holding the weapon.

Then he lowered his visor.

Marcello clasped the gun with his free hand.

Arturo locked eyes with him.

One… two… _shoot_.

A single bang sliced through the air. Marcello lowered immediately his arms while from Arturo's harquebus a puff of smoke was rising and Frundsberg took a hand to his face.

_He had hit him._

The officers, after the initial moment of panic, started giving orders and the enemy harquebusiers started shooting, while the pikemen stood in front of them, shielding them from close-ranged attacks.

"CHARGE!" Giovanni shouted

That was the second signal.

Marcello and Arturo jumped down the horses, Arturo dropping the harquebus, and they ran behind the Bande, as fast as the ground covered in snow allowed them to, while behind them, the battle began.

At a point, after a particularly loud bang, Arturo stopped on the spot, bursting out "What was that?".

Marcello turned.

One of the walls of the ruins had been knocked down, surely by the landsknechts, and behind it there was a small, wheeled cannon, still smoking.

Two other soldiers knocked down another wall with short wooden beams. Behind it, another cannon, identical to the first.

And another loud bang.

"It's a trap!" Giovanni shouted turning his horse.

"They're coming, they're coming!" Arturo said as the soldiers closer to them caught up

"Retreat! Artillery!" Giovanni shouted again

A third cannon appeared from behind the walls.

On the third bang, Giovanni fell from the horse.

Marcello started instinctively running towards him, with Arturo behind him shouting to stop and turn back.

"They hit the Capitano! They hit the Capitano!" Marcello shouted rushing forward.

He looked back for a moment. Lucantonio and Sergio had understood what had happened and were riding after him.

One of the enemy harquebusiers was aiming, but Marcello didn't stop. An officer told the soldier something, and the latter lowered the weapon.

_What the…?_

"Marcello, _fermati_!" Arturo yelled grabbing his vest

"_Tötet den anderen Jungen_!" the German officer ordered. The harquebusier shot.

The last thing Marcello knew before he was with his face on the ground was that Arturo had shoved him and he had heard a bang.

Then, he only knew Arturo had fallen on him and there was something sticky and warm on his right eyebrow.

"_Ragazzi_!"

Arturo was lifted up, and Marcello felt strong hands pulling him up. He found himself facing Sergio before the sticky liquid on his forehead oozed in his right eye. It was red.

"No time for this! You won't go blind, don't worry, it's just your eyebrow" Lucantonio told him hauling him up on a horse and putting Arturo behind him "Take your friend away, he got a bullet in his arm. Run!"

Marcello spurred the horse and galloped away, trying to resist the urge to rub the blood off his right eye. He did not stop until he saw the other soldiers, and got down only when Carmine took Arturo and another soldier ripped a rag to bandage his bleeding forehead.

Lucantonio and Sergio came back after a few moments, and Giovanni was on Lucantonio's horse.

But something was terribly wrong: his right leg was bleeding and sticking out at an odd angle, and he was pale as a ghost.

He forced himself to smile when he saw Marcello.

"You've been… brilliant" he panted "_Grazie… grazie, fratello_"

"We have to take you away from here" Lucantonio said getting off the horse "_Now._ Your so-called brother could have gotten himself killed, and so could have you"

"They weren't so determined to kill me" Marcello intervened "I saw an officer trying to stop a harquebusier who had aimed on me"

"We'll mind later" Giovanni resolved "Lucantonio, stay behind and lead the men. We must hold back the landsknechts as long as we can. It must not become another Pavia. Try to force them to move, it won't be safe getting close again now we know they have falconets"

He gritted his teeth as Lucantonio and Sergio helped him down and laid him on a makeshift stretcher.

"This is the traitor again" he panted

Sergio, Carmine and ten other men gathered around, two took the stretcher and lifted it, and the others started carrying other wounded.

Marcello walked alongside the stretcher.

Once Papà had told him that if someone lost too much blood, if he fell asleep he wouldn't have awaken anymore.

He didn't want Giovanni to fell asleep and never wake up again.

He didn't want him to die.

"Don't give up, Vanni. Don't give up"

* * *

><p><strong>Cavalleggeri = light horsemen<strong>

**Figurati= big deal!**

**Vicario= I didn't know how to translate it, and it came from the movie. Anyway, it must be a kind of functionary.**

**Capitano = captain**

**Aspetta = wait, even if you must probably have learned it off by heart**

**Lontano da me, Assassino = (stay) away from me, Assassin**

**Marchese = marquis. Still Federico Gonzaga.**

**Esatto = exactly**

**Ancora = both "again" and "still"**

**Appunto = that's the point**

**Fermati = stop!**

**Grazie, fratello = thank you, brother**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Tötet den anderen Jungen<strong>_** = kill the other boy. Well yes, they actually ordered to kill Arturo.**


	10. An Assassin's confession

_**As in last chapter, here, too, there are heavy quotes, though they're from Pietro Aretino's very letters.**  
><em>

_**Please don't kill me, I just stuck to history.**_

* * *

><p><em>We went back to the camp as fast as we could. But in the nearby town, no surgeon could be found. In return, the traitor had been there with two or three German soldiers. And guess who were they looking for? ME.<em>

_Obviously, the bastardo had covered his face, so he hadn't been recognized, but Pietro, before putting him to the flight, had managed to leave a gash on his right hand. And yes, he was an Assassin, and quite young too, as Pietro says._

_Not finding me, he ran as soon as he could, and luckily Pietro could defend himself._

_At that point, we came here to Mantova the soonest we could. Giovanni was right: Luigi really gave us a warm welcome, and he even called the very Mastro Abramo who had been sent to San Secondo last year._

_Even if there wasn't actually too much he could do. Giovanni already had a fever when we arrived here._

* * *

><p>Chapter 9<p>

An Assassin's confession

_November 26__th__ 1526, Mantova_

"I just hope Lucantonio will be a good leader" Giovanni mumbled

"I could send for him" Messer Pietro intervened

Giovanni shook his head.

"Would you have him leave the war to see a sick man?"

The first thing Marcello had done once they had arrived had been a search for the nearest stool, and at the moment he was sitting on that very stool, but he did not feel like watching or speaking.

Mastro Abramo had examined Giovanni just moments before, and he had clarified immediately the situation was serious. At the moment, he was just outside the room, talking to his assistants.

One of the two, Samuele, as Marcello recalled, reentered the room and looked at Marcello.

"Sorry for the question, little one, but how did you hurt your forehead?"

"I fell. It's nothing. I hit my head on a stone"

"_Aspetta_, maybe I'd better close it. At least you won't have three eyebrows when it heals" Samuele said fumbling in a bag and pulling a needle and some thread out of it.

Seeing the needle, Marcello instinctively winced. Samuele chuckled.

"Come on, aren't you a boy?" he said moving the needle over the flame of one of the candles in the room "Grit your teeth and put up with it"

He turned to Messer Pietro.

"Can you hold him? I don't want him to wiggle, I could hurt him"

"Make him sit here, I can hold him" Giovanni intervened waving his hand

"… are you sure?" Samuele burst out

"Marcello, _vieni qui_"

Marcello approached the bed and sat on the left edge.

"You weasel, you do listen to the capitano, huh?" Samuele commented "All right, let's do it"

Marcello leant against the bedhead, took away the bandage and stayed still. Giovanni grabbed his head with the left hand and Samuele got close.

Initially, he dabbed at the gash with something that smelled like wine or something like that, Marcello had been brought into the world and brought up with that smell always around, and a lifetime would not have been enough to forget it, then he put his hands near the wound – too near – and raised the needle.

It lasted only moments, but to Marcello it seemed an eternity. He found himself clutching the edge of the bedhead with a hand and almost digging his fingernails in the palm with the other.

He did not breathe a word. Clutching his fists, clenching his teeth, closing his eyes, was all right. But he was not going to snivel in front of Giovanni, not after he had taken a cannon ball in his right leg.

"Now we're talking business!" Samuele commented patting him on the shoulder "I'm done, I just need to dress it again"

After bandaging Marcello's head and picking up his tools, Samuele gestured to Messer Pietro to join him outside the room. Messer Pietro entered the hallway, while Samuele stopped in the doorway and looked at Marcello.

"You're lucky, with a friend like him" he said pointing at Giovanni with his look. He went out and closed the door.

As soon as they were alone, Giovanni rolled his eyes.

"These _dottori_!"

"Look who's talking!" Marcello replied instinctively

Giovanni chortled, not his usual laugh but a laugh anyway.

"As it seems, they want to keep me away from their talks" Giovanni said crossing his arms "Marcello, could you do me a favor?"

"Anything"

"Can you try to hear what they're saying?"

Marcello nodded and picked up his glass of water from the desk in a corner, he emptied it in one gulp, knelt on the floor and set the glass against the wall near the door before leaning his ear on it.

"Do you think it will be enough to convince him?" Samuele's voice leaked from the corridor

"Until the kid is involved, Giovanni would give even his right _hand_" a voice Marcello recognized to be General Francesco Della Rovere's answered "Since I saw them together in Pavia almost two years ago, Giovanni hardly ever leaves him alone. I have to say I had actually questioned myself whether they were really brothers or not… they wouldn't be closer if they were, in my opinion"

"Don't talk nonsense!" Messer Pietro intervened "They both are legitimate sons of their fathers. But the matter doesn't change, Giovanni _gli vuole bene_ from the bottom of his soul. I don't think he could stand the thought of Marcello losing someone else, not when it's two years the boy is fatherless."

Marcello almost dropped the glass.

Giovanni _was risking death_.

"Being disabled is one of his worst fears, but I think he'll always judge it as a situation better than having to pass on in the moment of danger, leaving an apprentice too young and an army without a commander. He sees himself in that boy. He sees a mere nobody, the youngest child of a junior branch of a family fallen in disgrace, kicked into the world even before being ready. The fact Marcello joined the fray to take him out like he had attempted to do fourteen years ago with Machiavelli just strengthened his conviction. It's written all over his face, if he had to leave the Bande to someone, it would be Marcello, if he was old enough"

"So, do you think we could convince him?" another voice intervened, which Marcello recognized to belong to Mastro Abramo, the Jewish surgeon who had already cured Giovanni once.

"We _must_ convince him" Messer Pietro resolved "Oh, and I think we'd better be careful when we open the door again. If Giovanni hasn't asked Marcello to eavesdrop, I'm Dante Alighieri"

Marcello immediately lowered the glass and put it back on the desk, filling it with water for good measure. He was quite pale for sure, because Giovanni asked him what had he heard.

"Messer Pietro caught me" Marcello murmured while he uselessly tried to stop his hands from shaking.

The door opened, and Messer Pietro reentered the room, along with Luigi Gonzaga, General Della Rovere, Mastro Abramo and his two helpers.

"There's nothing else we can do" Mastro Abramo "The leg must be amputated. You have to decide, messere, but do it quickly: that wound could kill you in a few days, and even a moment could make a difference between life and death"

Marcello sat on the stool and clutched the edges: he really could not prevent his hands from shaking, and it just seemed that the snow swirling outside had piled up in his belly and there had turned to ice.

Mastro Abramo, the General, Luigi and the two helpers left the room, leaving the three Assassins alone, in silence, with Marcello gritting his teeth and clenching his fists like if his eyebrow cut had opened again.

Giovanni put his hands in his hair, he sighed, then he started chewing on his fingernails.

"What is going to happen…?" he muttered between his teeth "I've… never… done any wrong…"

"Maybe… maybe you should let them do it, Vanni" Marcello stuttered "Don't worry for the aftermath… I won't get more than five steps away from you if you need help"

"Ma…"

"_Ma un corno_! Do you want to leave that bed, _or not_?" Marcello burst out springing to his feet "I thought it took much more than a lead ball as small as my fist to burke you! If there's a thing I learned from Messer Pietro, it's that there was a Master Assassin who lost an arm… and you know when they got rid of him? Only when he had been in a stinking prison for two years, on bread and water, and pissing himself, and he had white hair and beard!"

Messer Pietro goggled.

"You have already read _La Crociata Segreta_?"

"You may have wanted to postpone the moment in which I would have revealed myself as my father's son, Messer Pietro, but with all the stuff you made me study, you really have forgotten my mother used to have a whole store full of books?"

"Marcello, please, stop calling me Messere. Don't you think we know each other enough to talk as peers by now?"

"Sì, bravo Pietro. Now Marcello reveals himself to be a bookworm, you ask him to talk as peers?" Giovanni sneered

"Giovanni, don't change the topic, the matter is serious" Pietro said getting closer to the bed "Let Mastro Abramo cut away what has been tainted by the cannon shot, and in eight days you'll make _serva Italia_ Queen again. You'll keep the stump instead of the Order of Saint Michael you never wanted to accept from the Christian King, after all, wounds and loss of limbs are the medals of the familiars of Mars"

"The loss of a leg won't make you helpless!" Marcello added "You have me. You have Pietro. You have all the Bande still answering to you. I'll stay with you if you're afraid, promise"

"Samuele will ask what's come over you" Giovanni commented "All right. Let them do it now, then"

* * *

><p><em>The doctors re-entered immediately and started extolling the bravery of his decision. I would have wanted to tell them to get a move on, but… do you think they would have paid me attention? As soon as they were done, they went to gather their tools and moved Giovanni so that his legs were out of the bed.<em>

* * *

><p>"Call for eight or ten men!" Mastro Abramo called out loud.<p>

Marcello quickly understood the reason: if for two stitches on his forehead, he had had to be kept down, he did not imagine what needed to be done to cut off a limb.

Giovanni grimaced and shook his head.

"Not even twenty could hold me down" he replied "I'll stay still, messere, there's no need to hold me"

"Someone needs to stay here to hold the candlelight" Mastro Abramo continued pointing at the candlestick on the desk

"I'll. Do. It." Giovanni replied between his teeth "Give me that candle"

"Let's get out of here" Pietro told Marcello, putting a hand on his shoulder to lead him out.

The door closed behind them, and for moment that seemed endless there was an almost absolute silence.

Then, a yell.

Just, it wasn't Giovanni who had screamed, but… Mastro Abramo.

"Damn it, Messer de'Medici, if you have to hold that candle, you must do it properly!" the surgeon then said "Damn… and blast it… Samuele, call someone from outside!"

The door opened, and Samuele looked out.

"We need someone else to hold the candlestick. The capitano's hands are shaking too much and some wax fell off"

"I'll come" Marcello said without thinking

Samuele stared astonished at him.

"What? You don't let me close your cut and…"

"Do you think it's time to comment about my bravery like you did with Giovanni? Let me in!"

"Whoa, boy, Pietro told me Giovanni is fond of you, but it's not a joking matter with you either"

"Samuele, let me in, _cazzo_!" Marcello said shoving him aside and entering the room.

The situation was exactly what could have been predicted by the voices alone: Mastro Abramo's other helper, Simeone, had snatched the candle away from Giovanni's hand, Mastro Abramo had a burn on the back of a hand and was trying to scratch away the wax from it, and Giovanni, with a cut just above his right knee, was still and quiet but had lifted his eyes to the sky.

"Vanni… is everything all right?" Marcello asked taking the candle from Simeone's hands and kneeling next to the bed.

Giovanni cracked a smile and wheezed.

"_Ma no… guarda_!" he answered laying a hand on his shoulder. He was shaking.

"You're a damn blockhead!" Mastro Abramo commented "I'll do it, I'll do it, and even a kid…"

"Shut up and keep cutting!" Giovanni replied "I can assure you I'm hurting more!"

Mastro Abramo restarted the surgery. Giovanni was gritting his teeth, but he hardly stirred.

Only his shaking hands showed how much he was in pain.

Marcello kept holding the candle, but he just could not look at what the surgeon was doing.

"Why are you so quiet?" Giovanni asked him while Mastro Abramo changed the tool. If not for his voice, someone could have hardly understood a surgeon was amputating his leg.

Marcello didn't answer.

"You know, Pietro told me he sent a message to Francesco. In a few days' time, you'll see your sister again"

"We've been writing to each other, actually" Marcello answered "She told me Francesco has given her his old hidden blade, and there's a crossbow in it. Leonardo Da Vinci himself built it, did you know? Alessio is trying to build another. For now his attempts have been quite poor, but last time Flavia wrote he made a dart fly from a side of a street to another. I wonder how much she changed. I mean, if my voice broke… well, you know what I mean, _no_? I'm twelve, she's thirteen, she'll turn fourteen in a few months… she told me that Alessio has grown so tall in so few time he keeps stumbling!"

Marcello sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, still holding the candlestick in his right hand.

"In your opinion, why were they looking for me? Why didn't they shoot and they hit Arturo instead? I am… I am just Marcello. And that's that"

Giovanni shook his head, causing a protest from Mastro Abramo.

"Do you remember what I told you when we met? You have a heavy surname, Marcello _Auditore_" he panted "You're the Prophet's son. You have to watch your back"

"I'm only twelve"

Giovanni did not answer. He had started gritting harder his teeth.

Marcello was sure he wasn't going to stay still for long: Mastro Abramo had changed the knives with a saw for sure, going by the noise, but Marcello didn't feel like turning at all.

It was strange, the coolness with which he had shot a man, yet he could not stand seeing someone hurting, even if well-meant, his mentor, his best friend, his brother.

"Vanni, I had no friends before meeting you. They told me I was an idiot. And in this two years… everything changed. I'm no longer afraid of other people. If I came back to Firenze now, I would no longer insult others not to be insulted. Because we're going back to Firenze, aren't we? You still have to show me the turret in your villa. I'll jump from there if you want, no matter what Zia Claudia says…"

From the other side of the room came the noise of steps, and Marcello saw in the corner of his eye Mastro Abramo messing around with bandages.

Samuele stepped in front of Marcello and grinned.

"Leave him alone, now. You did what you had to." he told him taking the candle from his hands "Much more than I would have expected from you. When I approached you with the needle, I would have never thought you could have been so brave."

"He did not leave me alone. Why should I have left him alone?" Marcello answered with a shrug.

"General Della Rovere is right, you two wouldn't be closer if you were brothers" Samuele commented placing the candlestick on the desk "Hey, Simeone, give me a hand here!" he then said gesturing to the other helper and catching Giovanni by the wrist.

"Don't… even… try!" Giovanni intervened freeing himself with a tug and settling in the bed on his own. Where Marcello, as he had entered the room, had seen just a cut, now there were just bandages and nothing beyond.

"Call for Pietro… if he isn't at the privy… pissing himself out of fear" Giovanni told Marcello with a grin

He had come back to be the old Giovanni.

* * *

><p><em>Or so it seemed.<em>

_The moment before he joked, he asked Samuele and Simeone to bring back the amputated leg – obviously, as soon as he was in the room, General Della Rovere ordered him to try to show dignity and stopped the helpers – and laughed in front of Pietro who was as white as a sheet, and then, two hours before sunrise, he started feeling ill again._

_That night, I had slept in blankets on the ground, so I was the first to notice something was wrong. I ran to the other side of the corridor and woke up Pietro. Pietro called for Mastro Abramo, but…_

"… by then, even him had done everything he could have done, he immediately clarified he could not do anything else. When someone has a high fever, he keeps wheezing and his pulse gets damn fast, there's nothing left to do if he has already been operated" Marcello resolved looking at his feet "Yesterday morning, Giovanni has started making his will, though there are things he hasn't included yet, even if I don't know why."

"I'm sorry" Benvenuto told him putting a hand on his shoulder "If what you told us is true, the last days for you must have been pure hell. I really don't know what we're going to do now. Giovanni might have been an ordinary person, as he defined himself as a kid, but ordinary men like him are born once every five hundred years"

"What about Frundsberg?" Alessio asked Marcello

"He was quite weak already, the poison killed him" Marcello said shrugging "Some of the courtesans who serve the army reported to Pietro. They say the officers have placed a look-alike in his place and have spread the rumor he's ill, they don't want the army to stop"

"The Great Devil scares them even with a foot in the grave" Benvenuto commented "Forgive me, Marcello, I should not joke about this"

"Well, it won't last long" Alessio resolved "Sooner or later, even the soldiers will notice the General isn't Frundsberg. Anyway, sorry for before, Marcè, but it had to be done"

Marcello closed his eyes, sighed, then cracked a grin.

"Never mind. If it had not been for you, maybe I would have never relieved myself. Just… please don't tell Zia Claudia who shot Frundsberg, she might…"

Obviously he was going to crack his usual joke about the death threats Zia Claudia used to make against Giovanni every time he put Marcello in any kind of danger, but his voice stopped in his throat and he could not emit anything but a sob.

"Blame Pietro 'cause he didn't keep an eye on you? All right, we won't tell" Alessio cut the talk off "But if I find out you've lied about who really shot, _te faccio vede io_"

"Alessio!" Flavia burst out

"Just jokin'!"

"Do you think it's the right time for jokes?"

"Marcello!" a voice called from the stairway

"Amilcare! What's going on?" Marcello asked turning. A stocky man, with the face covered by short beard and a fur hat on his head, was going down the bottom stairs.

"The capitano wants to see you… both you and your sister" the man called Amilcare explained "I think… I think he's about to go"

"Va… va bene" Marcello mumbled

They went upstairs again and passed through the corridor at a fast pace. After a moment, Orazio followed them, slapping the mud away from his robes.

"Stay outside for a moment" Amilcare said pointing at the half-closed door "Marcello, the capitano wants you to watch"

Marcello peeked inside, and Flavia did the same.

There were only Giovanni and a priest inside: surely Luigi Gonzaga or whoever ruled the building had thought to send someone to make Giovanni "confess his sins".

_Let noblemen confess their sins on the deathbed is just a way to make rich priests' bags heavier_, Papà was used to say, _if God exists and you have something on your conscience, he will know it for sure even without a priest listening for him._

"Father… being a captain, I have lived a soldier's life. I would have behaved as an ecclesiastic, if I had put on the robe you wear" Giovanni was saying "If it had been possible, I would have confessed in the presence of both, because I never did things below me"

As he spoke, his eyes pointed to the door. Marcello turned to Flavia, shrugged and cracked a grin, then he rubbed his eyes with a hand.

"But one, one I repented many years ago" Giovanni continued "I've never known my father, he died when I was but a baby. When I was a child, I tried to obtain the attention of a friend of my mother's, hoping I would have found in him the guiding figure I've never known. When I was fifteen, I found out he had come back from Venezia with a wife and a daughter, and I immediately understood that all I had done, thought and attempted had been just like trying to go against something I could not change. If there's a thing I regret, it was my whim to change things. With the wisdom of hindsight, I realized it was better that way."

The priest nodded and made the sign of the cross.

"_Ego te absolvo, in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen._"

"Hide" Orazio whispered to Flavia and Marcello as the priest walked towards the door.

They waited for him to get out, then Marcello knocked on the doorpost and passed the doorway.

"You did it on purpose, didn't you?"

"_Ma no, guar_…"

"_Vanni!_"

Flavia noticed that Marcello had restarted grinning. She didn't exactly know what was Giovanni playing at, but if he was mocking Marcello to take his mind off, it worked.

"Ciao, Flavia. Sorry if I didn't greet you before"

"Never mind. It's all right"

"Did Marcello tell you what happened?"

Flavia nodded.

It did not seem the Master Assassin was dying, not from his look.

He was calm, too much calm. The only visible signs of how much he was ill were his irregular breathing and paleness.

"Good afternoon, Capitano" Orazio intervened entering the room

Giovanni raised an eyebrow.

"Orazio Baglioni" he commented eyeing him up and down "Better late than never"

"I apologize for my absence. I have been hindered" Orazio explained with his head bowed "I wish I had succeeded in my mission, you'd probably be still on the battlefield if I had stopped the boatmen who were carrying the cannons"

"You walked away unharmed" Giovanni replied "I didn't have your luck. Orazio, listen. Here you're the only person, apart from Marcello, whom I could entrust with the soldiers and do really put my trust… and Marcello is only twelve. I want you to lead my army, at least until Marcello is old enough."

Orazio's jaw dropped, while Marcello bounced on the stool and almost made it fall.

"I can't" Marcello said standing up "Vanni, I'm not the right person for this, neither now nor when I'll be eighteen. I mean… I've never had a way with many people. I even was thrown out of school when I was a small boy"

"They threw you out because they were a bunch of _idioti_" Flavia replied, despite she did not like at all the thought of her little brother leading an army, even if it would have been when he would have grown up.

"I cannot accept" Orazio intervened gesturing with a hand "I've lost an apprentice and a team pursuing the boats… I don't… I don't want to see anyone else dying after I take a stand"

"What if someone died because you _don't_ take a stand?" Giovanni replied "I'm not asking you to take my role for life. Marcello will be a man in six years, he will be able to take the command and he will have the soldiers' trust, but until then, the Bande will need a leader"

"Vanni…" Marcello replied

"Why did you get expelled from the school? For your red hair?" Giovanni smirked

"No, because I talked back to Friar Simplicio" Marcello answered "He was used to say the Turks are smelly and savages and they kidnap children and that Constantinople has become a brothel, just to make an example. I told him it's not true and called him _vecchio rimbambito, _he was about to cane me, I gave him a hook to the nose and ran off. But it happened six years ago"

"Six years ago… would have you imagined… to be what you are now?"

Marcello raised his eyebrows, or at least he tried to but he ended up grimacing in pain.

"No" he restricted himself to say "Not that I would have become an Assassin, I mean, I did not even know Papà had been one"

"What makes you think you won't be able to lead an army when you'll be eighteen? It will be in six years"

Marcello grinned and raised his shoulders.

"What about you, Orazio?" Giovanni asked

"No man can say a child is braver than him" Orazio answered "I'll take this role, Capitano"

"Don't call me that way. You are the Capitano now"

He turned to Marcello again.

"There are two things I'd like you to have"

Marcello did nothing but bite his lip.

"It's just a gift. You've always been by my side, brother, it's just my way to thank you" Giovanni said picking a sheet of paper from his bedside table "This is the act of property of a terrain in Firenze. Your grandfather used to have a palazzo there. Do anything with it – build a house, build a bookstore, donate it to the Brotherhood, but please don't sell it. And then… Amilcare!"

Amilcare entered the room, along with Pietro and Francesco. They had been listening, maybe, or there was something else worrying them, because Francesco looked left and right and said he could not find Benvenuto and Alessio before Pietro could shush him.

Amilcare walked forward and held out Giovanni's sword.

"Take it" Giovanni told Marcello

"No. It's yours…"

"Marcello, what will it matter tomorrow? I'd rather see it in your hands than under a stone"

"_Ma_…"

"_Ma un corno_! Take it, Marcello, that's an order"

"You're no longer the Capitano"

"I'm still your mentor. Take it. You're too old for that toy of yours"

Marcello bit his lip again, but Flavia was more than sure she had also heard him sobbing. She looked at him, and he blinked and shook his head, then seized the sword from Amilcare's hands and strapped it to his belt.

"Grazie"

His voice did sound like if he was about to cry, but he was fighting tears.

"I haven't forgotten you, Flavia" Giovanni spoke again

"Me? Why me? I have nothing to do with this"

"I need to give a task to you, too. Do you see that young man with a sword a bit too long for him? Stay close to him, he'll need you. Maybe you two are the only ones in this room who will be able to find the traitor…"

He stopped speaking, jut out the edge of the bed and vomited in a bucket on the ground. From the loud noise of steps, Flavia deduced Pietro had left the room.

Giovanni raised his head and stared at the door.

"I could call him back" Marcello intervened

"No… leave him… alone…" Giovanni panted "Ragazzi… listen… don't look… for revenge. I know that… maybe… who did this… also provoked… the attack at your place… but don't try to make him pay. Don't throw away your lives… to pursue him. The chance will come… maybe, not for you… don't look for it"

Somewhere out of the window, the bells of a church tolled nine.

"Enough with this, Benvenuto cannot go around at this time with this weather" Francesco intervened walking towards the door "Orazio, come with me"

"Don't you think he can carry off on his own?"

"That blockhead? _Come on_!" Francesco resolved pushing Orazio towards the door "Flavia, Marcello, you'd better not to leave this room."

"I wouldn't get out of here on the Mentore's orders" Marcello said "I'll stay with you, Vanni. I'll stay until the end"

* * *

><p><em>In Roma I had been told that Giovanni dalle Bande Nere was a man who always kept his promises.<em>

_Over time, maybe even since that evening, my brother become what I could define a man of word._

_When Giovanni started gritting his teeth out of pain again, Marcello pulled out the book Pietro had given him and started reading out loud to distract him._

_Then, when Giovanni dozed off, he asked Amilcare to bring his camp bed._

_Giovanni would have never wanted to pass away in that bed, he had always been a soldier much more than a nobleman, and he wanted to die as a soldier, Marcello told me he had always heard Giovanni saying that._

_The bells had not struck another half an hour and Pietro had come back when Giovanni woke up, saying he did not feel pain anymore, and that soon he would have made the Germans pay._

_As Marcello had predicted, he asked to be hauled on the camp bed, and closed his eyes again, as the candlelight was bothering him._

_The minutes passed, became hours. Marcello had opened La Crociata Segreta again and had restarted reading. He yawned every other sentence, and his eyes kept closing every now and again, but he kept on reading and turning pages._

* * *

><p>The only other noise apart from Marcello's voice was Giovanni's labored breath, as despite the Master Assassin was almost asleep, he was gasping anyway.<p>

"_It would not have happened to a stronger leader. It would not have happened to you_" Marcello mumbled marking his place with a finger. His voice was thick with sleep, and who knew since when he had not slept enough.

"Do you want me to take turn?" Flavia asked him

Marcello shook his head in denial.

"_Don't trouble yourself. Rest, my friend_"

* * *

><p><em>Then we noticed the silence.<em>

_Marcello clutched the book in his hands and looked at me. He didn't need to say a word._

_I knew he would have never been strong enough not to cry._

_I knew trying to calm him down would have been useless._

_I stayed with him all night, as he cried on my shoulder._

_He had lost someone else, and what hurt me most was the fact I could not understand._

_For me, Giovanni dalle Bande Nere had always been, and remained, a legend, someone I had always seen from a distance._

_For Marcello, he had been another older sibling._

_Marcello still keeps that book with him._

_In some of the pages, since the night between November 29__th__ and 30__th__, the ink has faded._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Aspetta = wait<strong>_

_**Vieni qui = come here**_

_**Dottori = doctors. I kept the original Italian because it's also a synonime of... well, medici. That would explain Marcello's joke.**_

_**Gli vuole bene = loves him – family/friendship love again.**_

_**Mastro = Master**_

_**Ma = but**_

_**Ma un corno = but my ass**_

_**Serva Italia = slave Italy – as Dante described it.**_

_**Te faccio vede io (RD) = just you wait**_

_**Va bene = all right**_

_**Ego te absolvo, in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen. (LATIN) = I absolve you, and blah blah blah. Don't make me translate Latin, please. Not in English.**_

_**Ciao = hello**_

_**Idioti = idiots**_

_**Vecchio rimbambito = you old moron – that's a big insult for sure, told by a six-years-old.**_

_**Ragazzi = kids**_


	11. Passing the torch

**_This chapter may seem short, but it's on purpose, it's just a change of events to get ready for the next part of the story._**

**_In my originary ideas, the story was divided in sequences like the game, and with this chapter Sequence 1 would have been over._**

**_My ideas changed, but part of the structure remained, so this is it._**

* * *

><p><em>There are pages of our lives we would never want to write or tell about.<em>

_But they are part of ourselves, and in those very moments you understand who can you really call a friend._

_Alessio and Benvenuto were not exactly gone in that night of November. They had travelled to Curtatone, to look for the gate guards and the citizens of the small town. After the funeral mass, we found them in the square just outside, holding candles, lamps and every kind of light to bid their farewell to the departed hero._

_The first days of December, we went along with Pietro and Orazio to the Bande Nere camp, so that Marcello could recollect his belongings before we left for Ferrara._

_Many soldiers had asked for Marcello to stay with Orazio, but Pietro had baldly stated that now Niccolò Machiavelli, Zio Niccolò, would have taken care of him. Then again, Orazio's apprentice had been killed trying to stop the cannons, and Orazio did not feel ready to train another._

* * *

><p>Chapter 10<p>

Passing the torch

_December 10th, 1526, Camp of Bande Nere_

"They should have thought about that before, I say" Benvenuto burst out opening the tent with a slap "Now the damage is done, it's too late, it's useless now to start chanting "No more cannons". On the other hand… I don't even think they'll keep the promise. The only condottiero…"

Francesco Vecellio's dirty look silenced him. Marcello passed in front of them and headed quick-paced to a corner of the tent, starting to pick up blankets, clothes and sheets of paper.

Many pieces of paper were scattered on the ground, and Marcello went back and forth piling them up. He did not ask for help, even if both Flavia and Alessio had come forward to look around and give him a hand, provided that Marcello would ask for it.

"Did you sleep here? The three of you?" Alessio asked, putting his hands on his hips

Marcello nodded.

It occurred to Alessio to comment "What a waste of space!", but he stayed silent. If there was a thing he remembered well about Marcello, it was how much he could take it amiss if someone said something that could offend in any way someone he was fond of, especially if that someone was dead.

"Need a hand, Marcè?"

"_No, grazie_"

A corner of the room seemed unnaturally empty. Maybe there had been something on the ground. Maybe Giovanni's camp bed.

Right in the middle of the void, a folded sheet of paper. Alessio picked it up and showed it to Marcello.

"Is this yours?" he asked waving it

"No" Marcello answered taking the sheet "Never seen it before…"

His lower lip had started trembling as he read.

"It's his" he said "For Borgia. Written twenty days ago."

He sighed.

"It's about me" he spoke in a plain tone "He says… he says I'm a blessing"

"Come on, and you are still so amazed?" Alessio instinctively answered "Marcè, since I've known him he never talked about his sibs. And he had at least five of 'em, if I recall. And in his reports to Donna Claudia… Marcello this and Marcello that, Marcello brought ten partridges to the camp, Marcello has read the whole Purgatorio… in my opinion, he suffered to leave you as much as you suffered to see him leave!"

"What do you know? What do you know, he might no longer exist at all!"

"We are _humans_. Maybe it's not as priests and friars say it is, but I think there must be something, after" Alessio said looking around "Marcè, we can do this all. We can make war, we can build, we can love. We just can't vanish into nothingness and that's that."

"What makes you think so?"

"Well… it's the only hope I have to see my parents again" Alessio resolved with a shrug "You got to go on, there's nothing else you can do. That's what Giovanni wanted from you"

Before Marcello could reply, Orazio Baglioni, in captain's armor, broke into the tent, with behind him a lanky boy with light brown hair, some fuzz on his chin and his left arm in a sling.

"Stop arguing, boy. There is no secret society in this army and…" Orazio was saying, but Marcello suddenly intervened speaking out "Ciao, Arturo"

"Ciao, Marcello" the boy called Arturo answered "Listen, were you making fun of me some days ago? About the fact that… well, you know, the secret society… fighting for the people's freedom and stuff like this"

"I don't remember well why were talking about that" Marcello answered acting dumb

"Didn't you say that… he… fought for people's freedom?" Arturo asked "Marcello, you were friends with the Capitano. Don't you know who are the others? I'd like to give them a hand"

"You can't give 'em two for sure" Alessio intervened "Not now, at least"

"Shut your face, _moccioso_!"

"The… others?" Marcello mumbled squinting

Alessio focused and he, too, started examining the tent: Marcello's friend had a blue aura, and that was a sure sign he meant no harm.

He gestured to Francesco, who understood and stepped forward.

"So you're Arturo Spada, right? Marcello wrote about you" he said looking in the young rifleman's eyes "Are you sure about your intention? We cannot allow ourselves to welcome someone whose loyalty can be won like with the dice"

"Messere…"

"It's Francesco"

"I come from one of the war zones. My family is well off, but since the Spaniards conquered Milano, we have constantly been victims of abuses of power. Have you ever heard about _bravi_? I'll just tell you that my father hardly allows not only my sisters, but my mother, to go outside alone, he fears too much for them, and as for my little brother, well, last time we went at the market and I wanted to buy a bag they had set their eyes on, he found himself upside down with a foot in their hands until I gave up. It's for this I joined the Bande Nere, so that things like this will never happen again. Now I'll ask you, is there someone who works in the shadows to send the _bravi_ and the people like them running home? Because if they exist, they'll have another _Spada_"

"Listen, boy, if you want to be an idealist, you have found the wrong person. We cannot punish every bully in this world" Francesco replied "I can't chase after who put your baby brother upside down or who maybe would threaten your sisters and stuff like that"

"It's not just a matter of Oreste, Laura and Lavinia. Ask yourself, Messer Francesco, how many Oreste or Laura or Lavinia there are in this world. I'm not fighting just for my siblings, but for all the kids like them" Arturo resolved "If you think it's not a good reason…"

He spent some moments staring at Francesco with a defiant attitude.

Francesco grinned.

"You're in… recluta of the Assassin Order" he said holding out his hand

Arturo gulped for a moment, then he shook Francesco's hand, looking nervously in his eyes.

"It's all right, Arturo" Marcello intervened grinning for the first time in days "You're always on the good guys' side"

* * *

><p><em>Three days later, we were joined by Mamma and Zio Niccolò. They were not alone, there were our cousin Giampiero, his wife Berta and their child, Domenico, seven years old, and they worked mostly as a cover for Cosimo, who had been sent to Mantova to protect him from any possible Templar retaliation.<em>

_Apart from two or three inches since the last time I had seen it, Cosimo had not changed at all. Despite we had seen him crying once or twice, especially in the evening, when he was alone and he had nothing to do, usually during the day he stayed cheerful and, when he was not playing with Domenico, he put Alessio through the mill._

_Marcello restarted his training – now we were four Apprentices and anyway Zio Niccolò was not young anymore, he used to spar with Alessio or Arturo, as Pietro Aretino, who had taken the fifteen-years-old from Pescarenico as an apprentice, made him train even if his left arm was set._

_We left for Ferrara, where Francesco had requested a hearing with the Mentore to reorganize the front lines._

_Things had come back to normal, but a moment with nothing to think about, nothing to do, nothing that could distract us, was enough for the truth to forcefully float back up to the surface._

* * *

><p><em>December 15th, 1526, Ferrara<em>

The room Marcello, Flavia and Mamma had hired at the inn was the same of the previous year, even if the rain that had been outside then had been replaced by the snow.

Laying on the bed and staring at the ceiling, Marcello could pretend for a few moments it still was that spring of 1525, with that rain that just seemed to never stop falling, and that had given way to the sun once they had arrived in Venezia.

He could pretend for a few moments he was still a child and not a man, and Giovanni was in the room next to his and soon he would have called him to train with the sword even if they would have both gotten soaking wet and Mamma would have started worrying he might have caught a cold…

_One more thing Ariosto lets slip under his nose and someone else is going to get killed_, Giovanni had said that day, and his words had come true.

The room was silent. _Too much_ silent.

Marcello could not even hear Cosimo and Domenico running up and down the corridor outside.

_Hang on._

If Cosimo and Domenico were not running up and down the corridor, then where were they gone?

"_Posso?_"

And that was Cosimo.

"Of course, come in." Mamma answered opening the door "Anything wrong?"

_Ma no, guarda, Mamma, he lost his father just two weeks ago and you ask him if there's anything wrong!_, Marcello thought sitting up.

"I… I… wanted to talk with Marcello" Cosimo shrugged

"I think he's sle…" Mamma started

"I'm awake, Ma', I'm awake" Marcello interrupted her standing up "Ciao, Cosimo"

"Ciao" Cosimo said scraping his foot against the floor "Do you want to come downstairs?"

"I don't feel like playing" Marcello answered "I'm twelve years old, I don't even like playing tag."

"I don't want to play. I just wanted to talk. Like the adults do."

Mamma let slip a smile.

"All right, I'll come" Marcello resolved getting out of the room

They went down the stairs and sat on a bench at the ground floor. Not so far, Domenico was in a corner, playing with wooden figures, and he seemed up to die out of boredom.

"So, what do you want to talk about?"

"I'm not feeling good" Cosimo answered

"What, you're not feeling good?" Marcello burst out "Why didn't you tell your mother? I mean, I'm the last person you should tell!"

"I don't have a cold!" Cosimo replied in an annoyed tone "Just, I feel… um… I feel… a void"

He pointed at his chest.

"I thought you felt like that too when your _babbo_ went in _cielo_"

Marcello bit his lip.

Was it possible that, with all the things they could talk about, Cosimo wanted to take out that very matter, and with him in the bargain?

_Oh sì it is. Who else could he talk about this with?_

"Marcello, will it heal?"

"No, Cosimo, it won't heal"

"What do I do, then?"

"You have to go on as you are. Keep on living. The void will never disappear, but it will stop hurting if you don't think too much about it" Marcello said putting a hand on his shoulder "Your father lost both parents when he was a small boy, remember? And my father lost his two brothers. And did they ever ship the oars? No, Cosimo, you must not let this knock you down. People die every day, and if someone is hurting for this, it means that someone _gli voleva bene_. It means that if heaven really exists… well, they deserved it, don't you think?"

"But have you read all the Divina Commedia?"

"Not yet. But I think I'll read Paradiso soon."

Maybe what Alessio said was true.

Of course, Marcello had been encouraged from the crib to think on his own, and only on his own, never believing without questioning, but he could put his trust a friend.

He could put his trust in hope.

Cosimo grinned.

"Messer Machiavelli was right, you _do_ speak well!"

One moment.

_WHAT_?

* * *

><p><em>Probably, because of Cosimo's big mouth, things did not go exactly as Zio Niccolò had thought, but according to Domenico, a few moments after Cosimo let slip Zio Niccolò had told him to talk with Marcello, they both had burst into laughter.<em>

_That very day, we went to Ariosto's house to discuss the situation._

_Marcello had proposed to take Cosimo, too, but Zio Niccolò told him his place would have been another._

* * *

><p><em>December 15th, 1526, Ferrara<em>

"You're speaking like… one of _them_, Zio Niccolò" Marcello mumbled fixing his scarf "Shouldn't he be able to choose?"

"There's a reason why certain things are not told until a certain age" Zio Niccolò answered "Cosimo is not even eight, he's nowhere near the age in which he could think for himself, not now. If his father had not said him a word about the Brotherhood, so must we. At least, not until he's ten or eleven. Even twelve, if that depended on me. Then again, the kid descends from both the Medici lines, the junior from his father's side, and Lorenzo's from his mother's. If for any reason Firenze ended up ruled by a tyrant, Cosimo could be a contender"

"What if he _decided_ to step back?"

"Free will does not mean absence of responsibility" Zio Niccolò resolved "Maybe one day his name will be called, or maybe not. But if he will, he'll need someone's support. Would you do it?"

Marcello stared at the ground, the tip of the sword leaving a line in the snow behind him.

"Zio Niccolò, I was told it would not have been a saunter at the Duomo. But I said I would have left anyway. I have not changed my mind."

Flavia sided him and put an arm on his shoulders. In the last year, she had visibly outgrown him, but she had no doubt that Marcello would have caught up with her and beat her in a few months' time.

"Here we are" Marcello said indicating a two storey house made with red bricks. Zio Niccolò stepped forward and knocked.

The others, Benvenuto, Giampiero, Francesco and Pietro, stood behind Flavia and Marcello. A boy, younger than Benvenuto but in his twenties anyway, opened the door, stuttered a "good afternoon" and looked around, confused.

"Who… are you?" he mumbled

"Virginio Ariosto, aren't you?" Zio Niccolò asked "We work in the dark"

"To serve the light" the young man completed the sentence "_Brothers._ Come in, my father is in his study. Who do I have to announce?"

"Bad news" Francesco intervened as Virginio let them in "Giovanni de'Medici passed away two weeks ago"

"Passed away?" Virginio asked "We received no word of it. Are you sure?"

"His apprentice has his sword, how many more proofs you need?" Pietro replied in an annoyed tone "You should open your eyes before you are hit by a cannon shot, too!"

"Pietro, _per favore_" Francesco tried to calm him down

"_Per favore un cazzo_, Vecellio, my friend was killed, how can you know how it feels?"

"Much more than you think" Francesco said as Virginio left the room to look for his father "Cipriano Enu and Tessa Varzi, ever heard of them? They were the best friends I ever had, and I've seen them die, both of them, the same day, she got trapped in a fire and he bled to death after he was shot. Yet I did not cover Ezio or his sister with insults after it. I can understand, Pietro. It was me who told Claudia to send you after Giovanni"

"What?" Flavia burst out, and she was surprised to hear Marcello speaking out the same words in the same moment.

"I've known Giovanni since the times when he taught the Roman Apprentices how to play _calcio_. I had seen that, when he was among friends, he got angry less often, he took more time to think about what he did, he counted to ten before speaking. I made Claudia understand Giovanni needed a control, but what he actually needed was a right hand man. I just would have wanted to predict the Templars would have wanted him dead so much. He did tell us who were the Templars in the ranks of the Empire, and he did all of this on his own. He continuously complained he would have wanted to see beyond the people, but even if he never had eagle vision, he could report us things that, if we hadn't known, would have annihilated the Brotherhood in less than no time. He had something in here, Flavia – _resolve_" Francesco resolved pointing at his own head "We could have one thousand more Assassins with your gift, kids, but if we don't find another with Giovanni's same resolve, we're screwed"

"You came" Ludovico intervened entering the room.

His eyes went from Pietro's baggy eyes to the sword strapped to Marcello's belt.

"I wish I could say I've done my best to prevent this from happening" Ludovico said looking at the floor "I knew about the cannons. I had hoped Orazio would have stopped them in time. And since when Giambattista never came back, we have had no more news from the field. I've failed, I admit it. I can't do it anymore."

He got close to Zio Niccolò.

"I'm passing the torch, Niccolò. You have my vote"

"And mine" Francesco intervened

Niccolò shook his head.

"No, Francesco. The responsibility of one apprentice is already too much for me. _I am_ voting for you. When we were fighting the Borgias, you were the best squad leader we had. You could handle Flavia and the problems of the Brotherhood in an exemplary way, you even took the responsibility of Marcello for a while last year, when you already had too much to think about. If there's someone who can do it, in these times of crisis, that person is you"

"I vote for Francesco" Giampiero said "Niccolò is right"

"Francesco. I've seen him in action and I trust him" Benvenuto spoke out "Pietro? There's only you left"

Pietro sighed and laid a hand on the nearest wall.

"Francesco. But if you try to give me another assignment without me knowing, you're dead"

* * *

><p><em>It was official: the Brotherhood was in an emergency situation. But the first thing Francesco told me and Marcello, as soon as we got back to the inn, was that we would not have had to worry about the matter.<em>

_Of course he was talking more to Marcello than to me: Benvenuto had told Francesco who had poisoned Frundsberg, and the new Mentore wanted to make sure that Marcello did not endanger himself taking responsibilities that were not his own._

_Marcello tried to ask him why someone would have wanted to abduct him, but Francesco told him that was not a matter he was meant to know._

_We left the day after, heading to Fiesole. Francesco would have stayed with us, under the false pretense of a tutor._

_Despite Marcello had been the first one to cry when we had left home, he also the one who was taken most aback when he was told we would have gone back there._

_I could understand him. How could we go back home and be good children like if nothing had happened… when we no longer were children?_

* * *

><p><em>January 2nd, 2013, Assassins' Headquarters<em>

Desmond quit the so-called book and pressed a hand against his eyes.

He had seen a friend's death with Altair's eyes, a family's death with Ezio's eyes, and the slaughter of the people with whom he had grown up with Connor's, but despite this, the fact a fatherless twelve-years-old had shot a Templar dead, had rescued his best friends and had seen him die, staying by his side until his very last moment, still seemed cruel to him.

"Why didn't Giovanni heal from that fever?" was the only question he felt like asking to the other Assassin in the room

"Holy smoke, Desmond, do I have to explain you everything?" Shaun burst out looking up from his computer "It was not a petty flu, it was _sepsis_. Only penicillin or stuff like that could have saved him, and it would have been discovered only after the first World War, even if after a cannon shot like that I highly doubt he would have kept his leg anyway"

"You're talking about a person, Shaun" Desmond said standing up and waving the makeshift book in front of him

"I'm talking about a person who kicked the bucket almost five hundred years ago. Wake up, Desmond"

"You forget I've seen him, in the Animus. I've seen the toddler in Monteriggioni, the day before it was attacked. I've seen Ezio, before going back to his room, spent at least half an hour pulling faces and telling stories to make him laugh. Only when I read those lines I found out the kid and the condottiero were the same person" Desmond replied "I know the Animus is not reality, Shaun, I know better than you, but I can't chase off the thought that I've heard of the death of a man I've hold when he was but a child"

"You can't make a tragedy out of it, Desmond. Ezio did hold the kid in his arms, and he already had passed away when Giovanni died" Shaun said standing up in turn "Just think, Newell had to wait weeks to view the Sack of Rome, for the simple fact his mind had not accepted yet what the Animus had showed him"

"Rome was sacked?"

"Yes, the following year. The Assassins took refuge in Anzio, in the remains of the Roman villas, or better they took there the Apprentices, the elders, their families, anyone who could have been an easy prey for the attackers. The Florence Brotherhood was sheltered in San Piero a Sieve, in Giovanni's family villa, and the Venice one in Chioggia. They did not actually need evacuation, though. Rome was plundered, but Florence just expelled the Medici rulers, who were quite far from being saints, and Venice wasn't even grazed by the events"

"Why did they try to kidnap Marcello?"

"Giovanni said it. He was Ezio's son. His… let's call him heir"

"There was something they were hiding from him, wasn't it?"

"That's obvious. Something an Apprentice should not have known. You know, Desmond, I don't think a soldier or a policeman would tell his kid where he puts his gun when he's not at work and how to reach it. The child could get hurt."

* * *

><p><em><strong>No, grazie = no, thanks<strong>_

_**Ciao = hello, hi**_

_**Moccioso = nipper**_

_**Bravi = or bravoes, coarse soldiers employed by rural lordlings in sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, especially around Milano. In their most famous fictional appearance, the first thing they do is to menace a priest.**_

_**Spada = sword. Notice, it's also the boy's surname.**_

_**Posso? = May I?**_

_**Babbo = Dad**_

_**Cielo = sky, Heaven**_

_**Gli voleva bene = was fond of them – still family love, I keep using Italian to distinguish it.**_

_**Per favore = please**_

_**Per favore un cazzo = please my dick. Yes, Pietro used a lot of oaths.**_

_**Calcio = Florentine football then – but it's also used today in Italy to say modern football – the one with the goals and the round ball I mean.**_


	12. Hidden Messages

**_Ooooh-kay, before you start reading this, I've been correcting some mistakes in the previous chapters, especially Chapter 5, so you'd better take a look from the start - or just Chapter 5, Benvenuto, because there is the heaviest correction._**

**_Believe me it's been damn tiring. But I'm happy to do it for you readers!_**

**_(Do you like the cover image? Well I have to say thanks to Shinra-Creation of DeviantART, who was so kind to draw Flavia and Marcello for me!)_**

* * *

><p>Chapter 11<p>

Hidden Messages

_December 24th, 1526, Fiesole_

Despite in the previous days it had snowed, the ground in front of the Auditore family villa was periodically clear, and surely not because Andrea, the handyman of the villa, shoveled the courtyard when the urgency was to prevent the vines to be ruined by the cold.

The reason could be easily seen in the first hours of the afternoon, when Francesco, the middle-aged man who had been hired by the lady of the house as a teacher for the two children, went outside with the younger and started fencing.

There were people in the town who insisted they had seen Francesco teaching how to fight to the girl, too, but then again, the Auditore had always been a peculiar family, since when, almost fourteen years before, they had bought that half-collapsed old villa and they had taken it back to its former beauty.

Some people said they were city folk, others implied they came from Venezia or even from Roma, if not even from the infidels' lands.

People with more common sense, or merely more perceptive, had resolved that they were a travelers' family who had finally decided to settle down for once.

Lately, the kids had also traveled, and when they had come back, people had recognized with difficulty the cheerful Flavia and the rowdy Marcello.

Some said that Marcello had been sent among the soldiers, but the majority differed, stating that the boy wasn't even old enough to shave.

But despite all the things that the people in that small town could say about the three occupants of the estate, one thing was for sure: they would have celebrated Christmas like everyone.

_At least until Cosimo started playing tricks on Alessio._

* * *

><p>"What's going on now?"<p>

"Messer Machiavelli, Cosimo has slipped snow in my clothes!" Alessio burst out shaking his tunic in the attempt to shake the frozen water off.

Zio Niccolò rolled his eyes.

"Cosimo, your mother allowed you to come here so you could have a good time, not to ruin others'"

Cosimo shrugged and moved his look from Zio Niccolò to Alessio, his cheeks quickly turning to red.

"Don't mind it, Zio Niccolò, I'll talk to him" Marcello intervened putting a hand on Cosimo's shoulder and leading him inside.

"Can I come too?" Domenico intervened

"No, Domenico, it's none of your business" Marcello resolved gesturing to Cosimo to go upstairs to his room.

"Do you sleep here?" Cosimo asked looking around. On the floor had been laid blankets for Alessio and Domenico, and the spare room had already been arranged for Zia Claudia, Giampiero, Berta and Enrico.

Marcello nodded.

"You share with _your sister_?" Cosimo commented shaking his head and chuckling

"Sì, what's the problem? If she can carry a sword I can share with her" Marcello grinned in return and sat on his bed

"You have to watch out for Alessio" Cosimo said sitting next to him

"Alessio?"

"_Ma che sei, scemo_?" Cosimo burst out "He's going to get your sister!"

"Well, she'll have to get married sooner or later, I guess"

Cosimo snorted, stood up and clenched his fists.

"You mean it would be all right for you if your sister married that _fetente_?"

Marcello felt like talking back, but he counted to ten in his mind first in Italian and then in Latin and heaved.

After all, Cosimo still was a child and Giovanni's son.

"How would you feel if Alessio called you a skunk?" he asked in a calm tone "I don't think he would be mad at you if you didn't keep pulling stupid pranks on him"

"But I… I…"

"You are seven and Flavia is almost twice as old as you"

"I'm seven and a half"

"When you will be thirteen, you will chase after other girls. You know, my sister is not the only girl in the world. My father had known at least two other girls before meeting my mother"

"But you're the boy. You're the man of the house. You can tell your sister who she has to be with!"

"Here it does not work like this, believe me. I'm just the little one" Marcello said with a shrug

Cosimo snorted and shook his head.

"You're not a little one! You have a man's voice, you have traveled with soldiers and you carry a sword!"

"What do you want? A sword?" Marcello replied ducking under his bed and pulling his old wooden sword out of it

When he saw it, Cosimo immediately winced and put his hands forward.

"No… Marcello, that's yours"

"Cosimo, what does it matter now I don't use it anymore? I'd rather see it in your hands than under the dust!" Marcello replied slapping off the dust. He was going to say more, then he noticed what he had just said. Or better, _how_ he had just said it.

Had he started speaking like _him_? Like Giovanni?

"Keep it anyway, Marcello. It would be wrong. You have a sword because you're a man. Babbo always said that I don't deserve anything if I throw a tantrum"

As it seemed, Cosimo had noticed it, too, if what Giovanni had taught him had come back to his mind.

"I'm sorry, Marcello. I really am. I started throwing a tantrum like a _moccioso_." Cosimo resolved staring at his shoes "Can you forgive me?"

"I'm not mad at you, Cosimo" Marcello said putting his hands on his shoulders and crouching to his level

"Aren't you?"

"Not at all" Marcello resolved with a grin "But don't pull pranks on poor Alessio again!"

* * *

><p><em>The evening continued and ended without any accidents, if the three times Cosimo did a slip in the icy mud trying to score a <em>caccia_ as we played _calcio_ could not be considered accidents._

_We had formed two teams, each of four people: I, Marcello, Cosimo and Domenico versus Lodovico, Baccina, Guido and Piero, four of Zio Niccolò's children. After a while, Domenico got bored and Alessio replaced him._

_We won because even if Lodovico was big and sturdy, usually Cosimo darted under his legs and scored, and this explains his frequent intercourse with the ground. He had to go back home wearing Marcello's old clothes, and surely if the governess who had been sent to pick him up had seen him with his clothes torn and splattered in mud he would have been in trouble._

_Marcello immediately commented that Cosimo had the makings of a champion. Yet his clothes could beg to differ._

_Some days went by, and the day after Epiphany a stranger knocked at our door._

* * *

><p><em>January 7th, 1526, Fiesole<em>

Marcello was the first to arrive at the door, he opened it a crack and looked.

"Who are you?"

"A friend!"

"Anyone can say it. Who tells me you're not a man of the Kaiser or of the Duca Alessandro or any powerful man around?"

"_Ragazzo_, answer to me, is this the Auditore house?"

"What if it is?"

Francesco left his seat and sided with Marcello. Flavia glanced up from her book and looked at them.

"Stand back, Marcello. If it's someone who means trouble, he'll have to face me first"

"Francesco? Francesco Vecellio? Is that you?"

Francesco's face lit up.

"Michelangelo!" he exclaimed, gesturing to Marcello to open the door.

A man in his fifties, with dark straggly hair and an unkempt beard, and a crooked nose that was doubtlessly the result of a brawl, entered.

"So you're here now, huh?" the man called Michelangelo told Francesco giving him a slap on the shoulder. Then he turned to Marcello.

"You're a chip off your old man. Apart from the hair. What's your name?"

"I'm Marcello, messere. Nice to meet you"

"The pleasure's all mine. Michelangelo Buonarroti"

Flavia's first thought was "_How many legends Papà knew and he did not tell us?_".

When Francesco had brought her to the Sistine Chapel, two years before, she had never thought that the author of those frescoes would have knocked at her door.

_Get used to it, Flavia, maybe when you'll find out Papà had befriended some crowned heads…_

"Are you twins?" Michelangelo asked setting his eyes on her

"No, Flavia is one year and a half older than me" Marcello answered "Why are you here, Messer Buonarroti?"

"I would have come before today, when I had known you were back and you had obtained a terrain. Just, the work in _Sagrestia Nuova_… believe me, the Bishop Ippolito and the Duca Alessandro should be killed on the spot, both of them"

"Always your usual problems, huh?" Francesco asked him with a smirk

"It's the same the whole world over!" Alessio exclaimed looking up from one of his usual sketches

"And he is Alessio Falcone. He's one of Cellini's apprentices in Roma, but with the news coming from North, we decided he'd better stay away from there for a while, as he's the youngest in the workshop" Francesco explained

"A future victim of customers. Cut the chatter, if I'm here it's for a reason" Michelangelo burst out "The piece of land the Medici gave you… which I actually cannot understand why it was given to you…"

"It was my grandfather's, it was acquired by the Medici after my grandfather died, it passed to the junior branch during Savonarola's rule, and…" Marcello explained "well, the Capitano de'Medici gave it back to me"

"Capitano de'Medici?" Michelangelo asked "Peace be with him. I knew his father and his uncle, if the three of them were still here, Firenze would not be contended like a ball in a match"

"Or at least we would not have to expect the landsknechts out of the blue at any time" Marcello mumbled going back to his chair. Flavia noticed he was biting his lip.

"_Ragazzi_, who was knocking?" Mamma asked coming from the other room

"Don't worry, it's just an old friend of mine" Francesco told her "Madonna Sofia, meet Michelangelo Buonarroti. Michelangelo, this is Sofia Sartor Auditore"

"Nice to meet you and cut the chatter. I was saying, I thought that if you wanted to do something with that piece of ground…" Michelangelo cut short grabbing a chair "Well, I could take care of the project. At a friendly price, I mean"

"You're worse than my brother" Francesco snorted while Michelangelo nonchalantly snatched some sheets from Alessio's stock.

"Hey, you! Divino or not, that stuff is mine!" Alessio protested

Michelangelo ignored him and started tracing sketches, while Alessio murmured insults about street urchins far more polite than him.

"You don't even know what Marcello wants to do with that terrain!" Francesco continued

"I do know" Marcello replied rubbing his eyes with a hand

"See, Vecellio? The boy knows his stuff!" Michelangelo replied pointing at Marcello with the pencil "So?"

"You don't have to decide now, _tesoro_" Mamma said putting her hands on Marcello's shoulders "No one is hurrying you"

"I know" Marcello said with a grin "But I also know what to do"

He looked at Michelangelo, who hardly looked up from the drawings.

"We already have a house. And I promised I'm not selling the terrain. But there's still something useful I could do with it"

He stayed quiet for a moment.

"A bookstore"

* * *

><p><em>And a bookstore it would have been.<em>

_Mamma overall was more than happy with Marcello's decision, and as soon as the snow melted the works began._

_We called allies of the Brotherhood overall, if not even Brothers and Sisters themselves, for the real work, for example Zio Niccolò's oldest children, who volunteered to lend us a helping hand, or Benvenuto, who, despite being … _indesiderato_ in Firenze, had gathered some old acquaintances of ours like the Simoni siblings to help._

_The reason why Giovanni had told not to sell the terrain was soon discovered: we found out that in that very spot, hidden by the ruins of our grandfather's palazzo, there were the entrances to underground tunnels – probably something that Nonno had used to move quickly in the city._

_When Mamma came to know it, she commented it was the second time she saw something like that._

_It was then she told us that in a similar situation, she had met Papà. The three of us interpreted it as a good sign._

_The espionage ring Francesco was leading was improved quite a lot, and we came to know in great advance of the incoming Imperial army._

_The spies also found Giambattista Ariosto, the Assassin given for lost during the assault at the boats._

_Fearing an attack, we took refuge in San Piero a Sieve, in the Villa del Trebbio, a sort of hybrid between a villa and a medieval fortress, property of Maria de'Medici._

_It's needless to say that…_

* * *

><p><em>April 20th, 1527, San Piero a Sieve<em>

"_MARCELLO!_"

_... we had not even gotten past the doorstep when Cosimo literally tackled Marcello in a hug._

* * *

><p>"Sì, Cosimo, I'm happy to see you too, but now can I get in?" Marcello said gently pushing the little boy backwards<p>

"I did not believe it!" Cosimo squeaked "I was told you were coming, but I did not believe it! Do you know I'll turn eight in June? And you? When will you be thirteen?"

"We'll have to wait until October for that" Marcello said as Cosimo led the way running in the hallway

"But is it true the others are coming too?" Cosimo asked turning, visibly excited at the thought of hosting people in his villa

"_Ma no, guarda!_" Marcello resolved with a guffaw.

"_Ma no, guarda!_" Cosimo mimicked him folding his arms and raising his head.

"Cosimo!"

"Marcello!"

"And you say I'm wrong when I say I'm in a _gabbia de matti_!" Alessio said crossing the doorstep and rolling his eyes.

Flavia found herself laughing. Those two… it was just like if Giovanni had left behind two parts of himself, the Assassin and the nobleman, his friend and his son. And when they were together, it was like if Giovanni spoke through them.

"Can we get in now?" Zio Niccolò intervened coming in. In the last days he seemed more tired than usual, and his son Bernardo had bent over backwards to make him join the refugees, but Flavia was more than certain that sooner or later he would have come back to his house in Sant'Andrea in Percussina, if not even in Firenze, right in the middle of the events: the Assassins were sparking off an uprising to restore the Republic and chase away the Duca Alessandro and the Bishop Ippolito, hardly more than puppets in the hands of the Pope, if one did not want to believe to the rumors that stated Alessandro was the son of Giulio de'Medici… also known as Pope Clement VII.

"Welcome, Messer Machiavelli" Cosimo completely changed his attitude.

Despite his restlessness, his high esteem for the man could be seen from a mile.

"Greetings, Cosimo. You really look fine" Zio Niccolò answered in a tone that draw a suppressed chuckle from Marcello.

"Shall we get in?" Cosimo asked almost without catching his breath between a sentence and the other "Shall I show you the house? I have a ball, if we are many we can play. Do you want to see the tower? There's an awesome sight from there, you can even see Firenze if there's the sun!"

"Why don't you breathe, for a start?" Alessio replied

Cosimo burst into laughter.

"Come on, come with me, I'll show you your room. By the way… Flavia, Marcello, where is your mother?"

"She should be here in a few hours" Flavia said "She had to check for anything valuable we might have left in the building site and then she'll join us here"

* * *

><p><em>To some extent, it was a nice experience staying there together, getting to know other Apprentices of the city, even having classes in there.<em>

_Marcello and I had never been in school for much time, not in a proper school, Marcello because he had been thrown out and I because some days after he had begun I had decided to give up mine because I did not think it was right he was taught different things, but when Francesco and Zio Niccolò gathered everyone in a room, we sat on the ground and started discussing about Plautus and Petrarca, and French and Latin verbs, all together, boys and girls, we realized we liked it._

_Sometimes Cosimo went so far as escaping from his private teacher to attend our classes. He said he preferred staying with others than working alone. At that point, his preceptor literally carted him away mumbling protests about people in the villa, at least until Marcello and I told Cosimo to sit in our midst and gave him an old hat to make him blend in._

_And at least for a while, the preceptor swallowed it!_

_Alessio was found more than once having fistfights with a fifteen-years-old Apprentice, Gianfrancesco Lottini, a boy from Volterra with a temper worse than Alessio's, at least in Zio Niccolò's opinion. _

_Giambattista Ariosto was always kind to me and Marcello, or so it seemed. He always said he could understand us, of how much hard could be having a heavy name._

* * *

><p><em>April 27th, 1527, San Piero a Sieve<em>

"Actually, messere, Flavia and I have had a normal life, at least until two years and a half ago" Marcello replied "Our father did not tell us anything until he could. He only told us the truth after we had been attacked"

"Attacked? By who?"

"I don't know. I didn't see them. We weren't at home"

They were in the inner courtyard of the villa, Giambattista and Flavia on a bench, and Marcello sitting cross-legged in the grass.

"There was an Assassin from Cathay with us, she was looking for our father" Flavia explained "To ask him advice on how to rebuild the Brotherhood there. Just, she had been found"

"I'm not sure I got it right, your father and a nineteen-years-old girl made three soldiers armed to the teeth snuff it like that? _On their own_?" Giambattista burst out "An old man and an Apprentice, I wish I had seen that"

"I wish I had had my gun then" Marcello mumbled pulling nonchalantly some blades of grass "I wish I had already known Giovanni. If I had been then like I am now, I would have gotten those three bastardi from a distance and…"

He punched the ground.

"That filthy bastardo traitor!" he burst out tearing off a clump of grass with his fist "He took Papà. He took Giovanni. And he's still around and the Brotherhood isn't doing anything to stop him!"

Flavia wished she could have said something, but she did not know what to say. As long as they had been in Fiesole, Marcello had kept on living like if nothing had happened, studying, training, helping Andrea, staying continuously busy.

Now they were in the Medici's old villa, the wall Marcello had built around him to shut the pain outside had collapsed. That place surely reminded him too much of Giovanni for him to stay indifferent.

"Easy, boy. If there's a traitor, he'll be caught soon. After all, the devil teaches the tricks but not how to hide them"

Marcello snorted and gritted his teeth.

"You say you can understand, Messer Ariosto, but you are damn wrong" he resolved jumping to his feet "Cosimo understands much more than you! You cannot know how it feels, seeing your loved ones dying without being able to do a thing! I don't fucking care if my father had been the Mentore before getting married, or if my first master was a legend, I just care the fact that I'd be damn happy to be in their shadow IF THEY JUST COULD BE STILL HERE!"

He threw on the ground the grass he still had in his hand and he marched to the door of the villa, while Giambattista kept staring at him.

"He'll get over it" the Assassin said shaking his head

"It's been five months, messere. If he was supposed to get over it, don't you think it should have happened before?" Flavia asked looking at the ground "I think he must have felt offended"

"Offended?"

"Marcello is right, you would not complain about being in your father's shadow if he no longer was alive. And you don't even have a reason to complain now your father has resigned" Flavia explained "I think he's feeling somehow lost. He no longer has a mentor"

"What about Machiavelli?"

"Zio Niccolò is tired, he barely can keep watch on his own children, let alone an Apprentice. Then again, he cannot even teach him how to fight, Francesco is taking care of that. If anything, Francesco is thinking about calling Borgia back from Basel"

"_Giovanni Borgia_?" Giambattista burst out growing visibly pale "What, is Giovanni Borgia coming back in Italia?"

"If it goes on like this, it will be the only thing to do. Do you know him?"

"Sometimes he came to Ferrara to visit his mother. He's nuts. I don't know how the Hell was he accepted into the Order or for what reason he still is in, but he's a danger even for himself"

"If Giovanni was his friend, I don't see why you should think like that"

"We are talking about the same Giovanni who ordered his own son to be tossed at him from a window of this very building, aren't we? The same Giovanni who let your brother into a battle and made him shoot at Frundsberg with a bullet filled with digitalis purpurea poison?"

_Digitalis purpurea?_

How could he know what had killed Frundsberg, if not even Francesco had been informed before Marcello had told him and the whole thing had been silenced?

She looked around. There was no one near. Francesco had left the villa that very morning, to check the situation in Firenze.

* * *

><p><em>I had found the traitor. He had given himself away.<em>

_Just, I knew too much now._

_If at the beginning he had had qualms about kidnapping me or Marcello in a villa full of in-training or elderly Assassins, choosing the so-called nice talk instead, now I knew who he was he could not risk me exposing him._

_Before I could recall where I had left my hidden blade he hit me on the back of my head and I blacked out._

_What neither I nor him could know, luckily, was that Cosimo was used to steal the jam from the kitchens and hide in the bushes to happily eat it all. As soon as the courtyard was empty, he sprinted out and told Marcello all that he had seen._

_According to what Marcello told me when we met again, he darted out of the main gate, just to be stopped by Zio Niccolò._

* * *

><p>"Don't even try it, Marcello. You'd just endanger yourself"<p>

"Zio Niccolò… _they got Flavia_!"

"An Apprentice is worth another?" Zio Niccolò said holding Marcello by the hood "Would it be worth the infraction of two tenets of the Creed? Would it be worth thwarting all the effort we have been doing to keep the Brotherhood safe? Marcello, think at what you're doing!"

"But Zio Niccolò…"

"It hurts me too! I've seen you two growing up, I know, I would do something, too, but this is not what we can do! The Assassins are in Firenze and they can't move from there. In Roma, Ricoveri has to mind the defense of the city, and I highly doubt the Templars are heading to Venezia!"

"What's in Roma, Zio Niccolò? Why would they take Flavia there? _What's so special_ about me and Flavia?"

Zio Niccolò looked in Marcello's eyes and put the hand that was holding his hood to his shoulders.

"Marcello, listen. I know how you are feeling. I know you've seen too much, but no one of us can do anything about it. There are things an Apprentice cannot know, all the more so in an emergency situation like this. You'd better go back inside now. As soon as couriers will pass, I'll see if I can warn someone"

_As soon as couriers will pass._

The couriers had not been passing in days! It was called emergency for a reason! Not only they did not want to explain him the reason of the kidnapping, they weren't going to do anything?

He pushed Zio Niccolò aside and ran back in the villa.

"Giovanni would have helped me!" he shouted taking the first stairway "He would have told me the truth!"

He ran to his room and slammed the door shut.

"Slam it harder, Marcè"

"Fottiti, Falcone"

"Second tenet of the Creed: hide in plain sight. I think you kinda failed that one"

Marcello stayed quiet as Alessio crossed the room and leaned against the closed door.

"Cosimo shouts at you that _futtutissimo_ Ariosto got Flavia and you sprint away making a damn mess and you don' even worry 'bout gettin' the sword?"

He had restarted talking in part dialect. So he was worried, or angry, or maybe both.

"Tonight we're off, you and I. We're lookin' for Flavia. Machia told they're headin' to Roma, aren' they? So there we go!"

"Roma is huge, Alessio, you know it better than me. And we don't even have a plan" Marcello said sitting on his bed

"Did you have one before?"

"I would have gotten him before he could go far"

"Sì, _you_" Alessio sneered bitterly "Your father ever told you about some times in which someone he was fond of was kidnapped and he wasn't the Mentore yet?"

"They got his father and brothers when he was seventeen" Marcello sighed "But he could not save them"

"And that other guy, Altair? You have read that book about him. Was there something we could use?"

"I don't think so" Marcello mumbled picking up La Crociata Segreta from his satchel. The pages on which he had wept the year before had somewhat shriveled up, leaving a sort of bulge near the final part, but there was something else that seemed wrong in the initial part of the book.

"Who made that dog-ear?" he asked giving Alessio a dirty look

"Marcè! The Templars got your sister and you ask who made that dog-ear? I've always seen that since I've seen that book!"

"When I read it there wasn't" Marcello mumbled "All right, I haven't opened this book in five months, but how couldn't I notice it?"

"Three words, Marcè. Giovanni. De'. Medici." Alessio said shaking his head and getting close to him "You were worried for him, and someone got the book and folded the page!"

Marcello opened the book and smoothed out the leaf, page seventy-two, when he noticed the bottom corner of the page was not the only thing that had been tampered: many letters had been underlined with a charcoal pencil.

"Underlined letters?" Alessio asked raising an eyebrow and marking his place on the page "It's a coded message! Marcè, you're right… Giovanni would have helped you… _he did it_! Read, Marcè… _t__h__e__ leader s__m__irked as he walked in, and Altair regarded him for a moment, seeing him shrink a little under his gaze. Did he carry the smell of death? __P__erhaps…_"

"Temp… do you think it's about Templars?"

"Temple! Temple of Uni! And Francesco said Uni is how the Etruscans called Juno!"

"Then? What else?"

"You read yourself, Marcè. This confirms what Machia said. _Roma_. Temple of Juno, Roma, then there's an A, two Ps, an L, an E… apple? What has fruit got to do with this?"

"… _no matter how much __of__ a charade he thought it was. 'Tamir rules the Souk al-Silaah,' h__e__ sai__d__, thinking of th__e__ merchants talki__n__g_. It's not any stupid apple, Alessio. There's an Apple of Eden under the Temple of Juno in Roma, that's what it means!"

"An Apple… of Eden? Like that bullshit about Adam and Eve and the snake?"

"No, it's a magical object. It controls human minds. Malik, Altair's right hand man, stole one from the Templars… and I'd gamble my sword my father hid another under Roma! It's all coming back, Alessio, the Templars must be convinced only an Auditore can find it!"

"An object… controlling human minds…" Alessio mumbled

"But Flavia doesn't know anything about it! I doubt she even knows about any Apple, unless Francesco did not tell her about Altair's one. Why, why didn't Zio Niccolò want to tell us? And why Giovanni didn't tell me when he could?"

"Maybe he was told not to tell it, Giovanni I mean" Alessio hypothesized "And then he, to explain you it, starts marking letters on a book. Have you ever asked him something?"

"I asked him why would have someone wanted to kidnap me as they were performing a surgery on him. I had left the book on the bedside table that evening, along with my carbon penc… _oh, che testone che sono_! I should have thought about it!"

Alessio quit the book.

"We know where to go and what to do now" he said "We'll wait until those pigs get close to that apple of discord, and then _snip_, we'll tear them apart. I think I know where that Temple is, there are the remains of a temple in the galleries under Roma, street kids use it as a shelter, and there were strange symbols on some of the walls. Some said it was haunted by ghosts, they did not dare venturing into certain places fearing to be attacked by them"

"And you?"

"There's no such thing as ghosts. I know those tunnels as I know my right hand"

Marcello laid down the book, picked up his sword from under the bed and strapped it to his belt, then he picked up the book again and stuffed it in his satchel.

"I already got some food from the kitchens, if that Cosimo Walking Disaster De'Medici can do it without getting caught, just imagine what I can do…"

"Do you have any weapons?"

"My hidden blade and one of Benvenuto's rifles"

"Bullets? Gunpowder?"

"A bit"

"A bit? We'll be two against who knows how many Templars and you say a bit?"

The door opened, and both Alessio and Marcello jumped on the spot.

"Cosimo! You gave me quite a turn!" Marcello said as the small boy entered the room

"Go look for her. Please!"

He seemed on the edge of tears.

"Easy, _topastro_" Alessio replied putting his hands forward "We were already thinking about it, you know?"

Cosimo bit his lip and sighed.

"Do you have weapons?"

"Well, this is no toy, I suppose" Marcello said drawing out two inches of his sword "And Alessio has a harquebus"

"The gunpowder?"

Alessio rolled his eyes.

"Let me understand, you have come here to tell us things we already know?"

"_Vacci piano, fetente_" Cosimo replied "I'm the master of the house here!"

Alessio seemed to be going to reply, but he stayed silent and waited for Cosimo to say something else.

"There's _an armory_ here. If you need the gunpowder, we have it. And more weapons too" Cosimo said leading them down a near stairway

"How do you know all of this?" Marcello asked following him closely

"Babbo was part of a secret group. They kill tyrants and free the good people" Cosimo explained as they entered a corridor that, judged by the lack of windows, was bound to be underground "Once I've seen him coming here with a certain… Cecchino, I think he was called"

"Cecchino Cellini" Alessio smirked

"Do you know him?"

"I'm in his brother Benvenuto's workshop. I know they knew your old man"

"If they knew him…" Cosimo sneered "Babbo always told me he had saved them from a fight the year he married Mamma. And then he told them, you're good fighters, now look for the Assassini!"

He stopped on the spot, growing suddenly pale.

"Oh, _no_! Babbo always said it was a secret!"

Despite the tension of the moment, Alessio burst into laughter.

"A' Mi', Assassini have this, don't they?" he asked showing him the hidden blade

Cosimo raised his eyebrows.

"You're an Assassin?"

"Just like Marcello here!" Alessio said retracting the blade "In the bargain Marcello's old man was the Mentore!"

"Mentore? Before Ludovico Ariosto? Great!" Cosimo squeaked "All right, let's go!"

He arrived in what seemed a blind part of the hallway and looked at what seemed a wall.

"Hey, Marcello, can you give me a lift? I'm too small for it" he said in an embarrassed tone

Marcello let Cosimo climb on his shoulders and approached the wall. Cosimo touched some bricks, then pulled a lever that seemed more than well hidden between a brick and another.

"Oh, so it was that?" Alessio burst out "I had noticed it ages ago!"

"Not all of us are lynx-eyed like you!" Cosimo replied jumping down from Marcello's shoulders as a concealed door opened.

The room was very small, but it was incredibly full with weapons, hung on the walls, stacked, crammed into crates.

Alessio gave a loud whistle, then he opened one of the crates and pulled out of it what was a bomb for sure.

"This must be a cherry one" he said weighing it in his hand "I had never seen one so closely!"

"Take what you need and let's go, if my preceptor doesn't find me where I'm supposed to be I'll be in trouble" Cosimo said passing to Marcello two flasks of gunpowder.

"He thinks he can command only because now I am the master of the house" Cosimo complained as Alessio swept the board in the bomb crates "If Babbo was here, he'd put him back in his place. And that Giambattista Ariosto asshole… if I just had had a sword…"

Marcello had been too used to the sight of a furious Giovanni to not recognize the same beginnings of fury in Cosimo.

He remembered only then that Giambattista Ariosto had been involved for sure even in the attack to _his_ father, besides the cannons of Governolo.

How could he have not understood? How could he had trusted that… that… that _puttaniere_?

"It's likely he would have harmed you, too" he told Cosimo, trying to reason also for himself "I mean, even Alessio and I, we've been trained to fight, but when we were your age we could only play with a ball"

"Speak for yourself" Alessio replied handing him a harquebus

Cosimo set his eyes on an old Apprentice's hidden blade on a shelf.

"Can I come with you?" he asked, pointing at it

Marcello shook his head in denial.

"What if it happens something to you?" he asked him "Alessio and I already know what we have to do, but even for us it will be damn dangerous. We know you want to help, but what you've already done was more than we could ever ask for. And then… who knows if someone needs you here, in Tuscany? You are a Medici, Cosimo, you are ten times more than Duca Alessandro. Your place is this"

Cosimo bit his lip, but then he grinned and nodded.

"Come on, let's get away from here before they start looking for us"

"Stop there! What is that?" Alessio asked pointing at what seemed a dummy in a corner

"That?" Cosimo asked getting close "That is a great Assassino's armor. Name was Alt… Alta… whatever, but it was passed on to the Mentore before Ludovico. Marcello's father I mean. I'd let him take it but it's far too big even for him"

"No problem" Marcello resolved with a shrug "Maybe it will fit when I'll be eighteen"

* * *

><p><em>At nightfall, Marcello and Alessio were ready.<em>

_The main gate – the only gate, as the villa had a moat filled in water and a drawbridge – was watched, obviously on Zio Niccolò's orders._

_But Cosimo, who was waiting for them on the top of the tower, had told them he would have found a rope long enough to cross the moat from there._

_The only problem was that Cosimo, despite knowing how much the rope would have had to be long, had no clue at all about how much it would have had to be thick._

* * *

><p>"Would that be the rope with which we have to go down?" Alessio protested lowering his hood "Come on, Mi', that will never hold a person!"<p>

"How could I know what kind of rope can hold a person?" Cosimo protested folding his arms

"Have fun trusting a seven-years-old!"

"I'm almost eight, for your information!" Cosimo replied stamping his feet

"Don't mind, we'll use it to drop the bags" Alessio grumbled "At least the food and the powder won't get wet"

"And how are we going down?" Marcello asked, even if he was almost certain he knew the answer

"We jump. In the water of the moat." Alessio said raising his hood, climbing on the window and crouching on the ledge.

"_Jump_?" Marcello asked bewildered "Are you mad?"

"If we jump and one of us gets hurt, Cosimo can give the alarm and someone will save us. If we don't jump, no one will help Flavia." Alessio told him holding out a hand "Marcè… it's _water_. Are you afraid to get wet?"

Marcello handed Cosimo the bags and climbed on the window ledge.

"Don't forget. Throw the rope, tie well one end on your side and when we tell you, tie the bags and make them slide down. And if you see one of us does not resurface or asks for help, go and call someone"

"Got it" Cosimo answered "And… Marcello?"

"Sì?" Marcello asked getting off the ledge and putting his feet on the safe floor.

Without any notice, Cosimo squeezed him in a hug.

"You're the only friend I have. Please don't die"

He was on the edge of tears.

Marcello could not believe it. Had he really become so important for that kid? Wasn't he himself a kid… how could he have grown up so much in such a little time?

He was not even thirteen.

"Marcello, _annamo_!" Alessio called for him.

"We'll meet again, Cosimo. Promise." Marcello said as Cosimo let him go.

"Swear it!"

"I swear"

"You have to swear on your father's memory you'll come back home safe and sound"

Marcello sighed and closed his eyes. He opened them again.

"I swear on my father's memory I'll come back home safe and sound"

Cosimo nodded and grinned. Marcello climbed on the window again.

"You first" he told Alessio

Alessio threw himself forward, flipped in midair, and fell into the water with a splash.

Moments went by, and to Marcello they seemed endless.

Then Alessio resurfaced.

"What are you waiting for, Marcè?" he asked getting out of water "Jump, you scaredy red cat!"

Marcello bent his knees, straightened them and jumped. For a terrible moment he thought he would have crashed into the outer bank. He hit the water instead.

The impact took the air from his lungs, he felt the urge to cough but he hold it back, resurfaced and got his wind back, panting with his mouth wide open.

"Let's go" Alessio said holding out a hand and pulling him out "Mi', we are all right! Throw the rope!"

Cosimo threw an end of the rope, and as soon as Alessio caught it, started sliding the bags down.

"All right!" Alessio said grinning and picking up his bag "Try to cover up for us!"

"I will!" Cosimo's voice echoed from the top of the tower

"We'll come back with Flavia!" Marcello said waving at him, more to reassure himself than for him.

"Annamo" Alessio said giving him a pat on the shoulder and taking the path that headed south "We get a horse, and then… to Roma"

* * *

><p><em><strong>Ma che sei, scemo? = Are you mad?<strong>_

_**Fetente = stinker**_

_**Moccioso = nipper**_

_**Caccia = goal in Florentine football**_

_**Calcio = Florentine football, again. And yes, Cosimo had definitely skill.**_

_**Ragazzo = boy**_

_**Sagrestia Nuova = New Sacristy, the chapel in which Lorenzo il Magnifico, his brother and two namesakes of theirs were buried. Today it's part of the Medici Chapels, a building outside the Basilica of St. Lawrence where you can also find Giovanni's grave – and not only his. I won't talk long about that place because I cut a very, really sorry figure in there. Aeon Hawk knows what I'm talking about.**_

_**Ragazzi = kids**_

_**Divino = divine**_

_**Tesoro = well, told to people it would be honey, sweetie or such. Literal translation is treasure.**_

_**Indesiderato = unwelcome. Pun on Benvenuto's name, which means welcome (Benvenuto was exiled twice in his youth for getting into fights – and the reason for the name was the fact his old man thought he would have had a girl, and a son was quite the surprise for him).**_

_**Ma no, guarda! = I think you recognized Marcello's "signature line" – you don't say**_

_**Gabbia de matti (part Italian, part Roman dialect) = nuthouse**_

_**Fottiti = fuck you**_

_**Futtutissimo (RD) = fucking**_

_**Che testone che sono = I'm such a block head**_

_**Topastro = rat**_

_**Vacci piano = keep your hair on, calm down**_

_**A' Mi' (RD) = Hey Mino – in Roman dialect and in some cases in Southern dialects too, as you have seen with Marcello's name, names are… let's say cut.**_

_**Puttaniere = whoremonger**_

_**Annamo (RD) = let's go**_


	13. Apples from the Sky

_**And this chapter too has been a really hard work as always!**  
><em>

_**But anyway I've kept on studying, and I've had Advanced English and Pharmacology exams. I got a 27/30 in Pharmacology, as for English I still have to do the oral exam.**_

_**I've also learned to properly draw and shade on a computer, so I've drawn Benvenuto (You can find him on my deviantART account, which, for who still doesn't know, is VixenSkywalker) and, on request from the girl who helped me out with the German, I'm also drawing Giovanni, Marcello and Cosimo.**_

* * *

><p><em>I hadn't the slightest clue of the reason why they had taken me in those galleries under Roma, at that time. I only knew what I could understand looking around: going by the rags stacked in some of the galleries, by some objects scattered, I realized someone had been living in there.<em>

_One of those who were bound to be the occupants of those makeshift shelters as it seemed had not escaped in front of Imperial soldiers, and now he lied dying with the back against the wall and a gash on his belly._

_He would not have died immediately, but he was done for. I had to bite my lip to stop tears, to stop thinking about Alessio._

_That boy might have been him._

* * *

><p>Chapter 12<p>

Apples from the Sky

_May 6th, 1527, Roma_

It had not been hard, for Alessio, to find the entrance to the galleries, and getting in had not been hard either. The hard part had been to recognize the place.

Since he had memory of it, the ruins of that old underground temple had always been full of shouts, steps, people. He had always stayed on his own, but the silence and the desolation of that place were hair-raising.

"Stay ready, Marcè" he told the younger Apprentice behind him "If Attilio and his guys ain't here, then the Templars are"

Marcello, whose face was definitely sallow at the light of his torch, took some steps forward and examined the dark tunnel, but he said no word. Since his sister had been kidnapped, he had become even more reserved than he already had been, and Alessio by that time had become an expert of his mood swings.

"Marcè?"

"What if… what if it was too late?"

"No, they must be still here" Alessio answered looking at him and hinting at a smile "Attilio is as territorial as a hungry lion, he wouldn't leave this place on the Pope's orders!"

He did not have nice memories of that place. The first time he had gotten there, when he was eight, Attilio had punched him in the mouth when he had talked back to him.

Since then, it had always been the same story, he taking shelter farther and farther, in the galleries the other called haunted, trying to come back as late as possible to find the others sleeping, and he didn't always succeed, the first, long nights spent half awake fearing someone could attack him in his sleep, with as his only companion the ghost woman, Juno, who made her long speeches to the invisible _Desmo_, or whatever was his name.

There were ghosts in there, it was all true, but he had not wanted to tell Marcello, despite his friend had proven himself brave enough to run in the range of three or four light cannons and who knew how many harquebusiers to save Giovanni de'Medici from the battlefield.

Maybe Marcello was one of the strongest boys Alessio had ever known, even if he would never have admitted out loud. In the years he had spent in the children's home, kids who had just lost their parents or their siblings were used to stay silent, staying all the time in a spot, if not even refuse meals.

Marcello had not. He had given vent to tears when his father had died, he had consoled his deceased mentor's son, and when his sister had been kidnapped, the first thing he had done had been trying to stop the abductor.

He was one who swam against the tide.

Flavia, moreover…

If Marcello fought the tides, Flavia would have been able to turn them. Maybe no one had really noticed, as Flavia had never done something striking like her younger brother had done, but Alessio had always had a sixth sense when it came to people.

He had understood since that freezing day of January that Flavia was special.

Special enough to make him leave the streets, his regrets, to convince him to join the Order.

He had never understood what had made him stare at her like an imbecile the day they had met. _He always felt_ like an imbecile, when she was around. But like a happy imbecile.

He, too, was afraid, maybe even more than Marcello. He wanted to see her again and feel once more like an imbecile. He did not want to lose her.

He tried to hold on the belief that if the Templars had been there and left, at the very least Attilio would have come back. Or the guys were simply in the streets, deciding which rich merchant would have been relieved of his bag.

Somewhere over their heads, a cannon thundered out. The siege had begun.

"They're here" Alessio whispered stopping Marcello "The Templars. No other reason for this. Or the guys would have all sheltered here. They must have been just chased away"

But Marcello was not looking at him. He was looking at a dark stain almost out of the range of his torch. A stain that looked terribly like blood.

Alessio instinctively let a whimper. Whose… what… they still were too far from the Temple of Juno… they couldn't… they could not harm Flavia…

Marcello stepped forward, the torch raised in front of him.

A human figure was sprawled on the ground in a pool of blood. He still breathed.

"… Assassini?"

Alessio would have recognized that voice even if someone had torn his ears off.

He was Attilio.

He rushed forward and took off his hood.

"Attilio, it's me!" he said kneeling next to the boy.

He had a wound on his abdomen. Deep. Too deep. There was too much blood on the ground.

He surely had put up a fight against the Templars, and they had stabbed him. There was no other explanation. He was still alive, but he was dying.

"The men who hurt you" Marcello intervened behind him "Was there a girl with them?"

Attilio panted and nodded. As it seemed, even speaking was too much of an effort for him.

"A prisoner? Attilio, tell us, it's important!"

Attilio nodded again.

"Are they still here?" Alessio asked again, though judging by the fact Attilio was still alive, they had not gone far.

Another nod.

Alessio stood up and put back his hood on.

"Let's go, Marcè. We'll cut 'em off!"

He had just restarted to walk when Attilio spoke out his name.

"What's up again? You cannot say "sì" but you can say my name?" Alessio asked turning on the spot.

Attilio raised a hand and pointed at himself. He panted again. Two words, _end it_.

Alessio raised an eyebrow.

"Are you mad or what?"

"It hurts… please…"

Alessio didn't move. He hated Attilio, or at least he had hated him. What else could he have done with a boy who had broken his front tooth, bashed up his face, and broken a finger of his left hand on purpose?

He would have wanted to make him squeal. Or wet his pants. Humiliate him.

But kill him, _never_.

"You can't ask me to do this"

Attilio pointed at him with a bloodied hand.

"Assassino. It was… this… you were hiding…"

"He'll die anyway" Marcello told him looking down "You can't heal a wound like that. I've seen soldiers in those conditions after battles… surgeons don't waste neither time nor laudanum on them"

How many people had Marcello seen dying in that way?

Enough to know Attilio had no hope, as it seemed.

"If you don't do it, I'll do it" Marcello resolved taking aim with the gun with which he had already killed General Frundsberg.

It took less than a second to Alessio to realize Marcello was menacing to reveal their position. Gun meant bang. Bang meant noise. Noise meant _sussed out_.

He had no other choice.

His hidden blade sprang out and found its target almost without him willing it.

Attilio ceased breathing.

"_Requiescat in pace_"

* * *

><p><em>In the exact moment Alessio closed Attilio's eyes and cleaned his blade, Giambattista Ariosto and Charles of Bourbon, along with just two soldiers – two soldiers who, I was ready to bet, were so few for a reason – had just taken me to the entrance of the Vault, Giambattista had freed my hands and he had sent me forward towards the door, maybe hoping I could have opened it barely with a touch.<em>

_I still didn't know the Apple of Eden was beyond that impenetrable barrier. But I had understood enough to realize there was a weapon, something the Templars would have used to subject all of us once and for all._

_I did not know what did I have to do to open the door, it didn't seem to need any kind of key, and touching it didn't work._

_Just when Charles of Bourbon was going to take out a dagger and make a cut on my hand to see if blood would have worked, the room was filled in smoke._

* * *

><p>A moment later, a bang was heard, and then a scream. Flavia focused and kept her eyes skinned: one of the red outlines of the soldiers meant to prevent her escape had fallen to the ground, and the red pool oozing under him could be nothing but blood.<p>

She took advantage of the moment of confusion to steal the Duke's dagger and darted away towards the direction from which the smoke bomb had come from. Luckily, the ability that she and Marcello had started calling Eagle Vision allowed her to see well despite the smoke.

Two blue figures. And judging by their stature, she was more than sure it was them.

"_Have you gone mad?_" was the first thing she felt like saying

"No time, run!" Marcello intervened gesturing her to start running

"Where are we going?" she asked while Alessio rushed forward and she and Marcello, too, started running away

"_Fuori_" Alessio said keeping his voice slightly low "Into the open. They'll lose us in the roads"

"Maybe there's something you don't understand, Alessio" Flavia replied "Roma is under siege. And the Duke… he has been starving his soldiers, I've seen it! The streets will be empty for sure. We won't give them the slip so easily"

Alessio did not stop running, but he sneered.

"Marcè… drop the first surprise!"

Marcello delved into a satchel, took something out of it and fumbled with it for a while, then he tossed it behind. There was a small explosion, but apart from that, nothing happened, at least nothing that startled Flavia enough to make her turn.

"Your surprise is _a banger_?"

"Full of caltrops" Marcello said nodding "I really would like to see how will they run after us without turning their feet into pincushions"

"I really hope you're not going to toss bangers still for long, or we'll find ourselves unraveling the explosive version of Ariadne's thread!"

Alessio made no comments, if not an "_Arianna_? Who is Arianna? Do we know her?"

"Shut your trap and run!" resolved Marcello, who, unlike Alessio, knew the myth of the Labyrinth.

They did not seem to be in good conditions, neither of the two. Flavia did not need to make two and two to realize they had run away from San Piero a Sieve, maybe even with just a few supplies, and they were on their own.

"Do you have a plan if they catch us?"

"We have enough weapons to sell our lives dearly, the three of us" Marcello panted while they started to see the exit of the tunnels "And, concerning the surprises, I'm not done yet with them"

He tossed behind him what seemed another banger. If it was a banger. Because, judging by the noise, it was bouncing off like a harmless marble.

"Lucky there's a draft from outside" Alessio commented "I never thought I would have thanked the drafts"

"Delayed action stink bomb" Marcello explained with a smirk "Come on, we're almost outside!"

The bang arrived, delayed as Marcello had stated. They were approaching the exit… almost there… they were out…

Just to jump out of the proverbial frying pan to end up in the equally proverbial fire. The landsknechts and the Spaniards were in Roma.

"Does anyone have an idea?" Flavia asked giving the boys a nasty look

Marcello did not speak, but he pointed at a big haystack near a stable and started running towards it. The landsknechts were hindered in the road anyway – Flavia was more than certain she had seen the black lined armors of Orazio Baglioni's soldiers and she mentally thanked them one by one when she noticed they had recognized Marcello and they intercepted the few German and Spanish soldiers who really tried to pursue them.

Marcello was the first to dive into the hay. Flavia hid just after him. A moment after, a thump near them informed them Alessio was with them, too.

"What now?" Flavia asked in a low voice

"Now…" Alessio said pulling out of his pack the old hidden blade which had belonged to Francesco and a pack of darts "… we're giving cover to the Bande Nere!"

He aimed with his harquebus and got ready to light the fuse.

"Are you mad? You'll ignite the hay!" Flavia replied aiming with the hidden bolt on the nearest German soldier "If you really want to use that, climb a building!"

More Papal soldiers had overflowed into the street. Flavia recognized their captain, Orazio Baglioni, another Assassin.

"If Vanni was alive no one of us would be here now" she could hear Marcello mutter. She put a hand on his shoulder before starting to aim again.

While she sent another bolt towards the Templars, she asked herself whether Orazio and the Bande Nere were there to save her… but she doubted it. Whatever was behind that door, probably was the reason why the Templars were in Roma, but she did not think that in a state of emergency like that the news of her kidnapping had reached them.

_And this probably_, she thought as a lump grew in her throat, _is the reason why Marcello and Alessio are here._

The Duke of Bourbon and Giambattista were definitely out of the tunnel. Flavia stopped shooting – she would have only revealed her position, and Giambattista knew for sure the possible hideouts for a fledgling Assassin.

Bourbon had started dueling with Orazio. It didn't seem any of the two prevailed on the other: their strengths were the same. Both noblemen, both trained to fight, yet this time no falconet or poisoned bullet could have put one commander out of action without risking to injure the other.

Giambattista in the bargain did not seem a good fighter, but all the men who were injured by his dagger after a while collapsed to the ground. Poison for sure.

It was a cold steel fight, like in the old times. But Marcello was biting his lip.

Almost suddenly, Flavia no longer found him by her side.

Just in the same moment in which Orazio was hemmed in by both Bourbon and Giambattista.

"Hey, you, _stronzi_!"

Marcello's voice from a rooftop.

What seemed a small yellow ball that landed precisely on Giambattista's head and squashed there.

"Did you want the apple? Help yourselves!"

He surely had found a sack of apples in the stables. But what had fruit got to do with all of that?

"Flavia knew nothing, you know?" he addressed the Templars with a coarse sneer and another apple in his hand "Because it's for this you're here, aren't you? The Piece of Eden. The one my father hid in the bowels of the Earth!"

He provocatively tossed another apple. Both Giambattista and Bourbon were distracted by him, like some of the attacking soldiers. Orazio pulled himself together and impaled a soldier with Spanish insignia with his sword. The Bande Nere had restarted fighting.

"Well, you'll never find it. The key to that door died with my father. It's lost, lost forever!"

The third apple hit the head of Charles of Bourbon. He was _taunting_ them!

And what was that Piece of Eden? It had something to do with apples, that was for sure.

Taking advantage of the soldiers' distraction, Alessio looked for something in his satchel, a bomb for sure, but Flavia stopped him.

"There are Bande Nere soldiers in there. What if you hit them?"

"You shoot, then!" Alessio replied poking at her bracer "It won't take long before they decide to pull Marcello down"

"You are two _idioti_, Alessio! Two – stupid – _idioti_!"

She leaped out of the haystack, holding the crossbow to Giambattista's head. Alessio followed her with his harquebus drawn.

"Oh, this explains everything" Giambattista said in a taunting tone "The Great Trio. The children of the Prophet… and the son of no one. Are you here to play adults? Because I'm sorry, _mocciosi_, but this is no game. I'd throw away those toys if I were you, or you'll meet the same, sticky end of the _povero illuso_ who tried to stop us. And if you don't remember the name, he was called Giovanni D…"

A bang and a scream. From the rooftops, Marcello had shot him to the knee with his harquebus.

"This is from him, you traitor!" he shouted as Giambattista fell on his good knee

"An eye for an eye and the world goes blind, boy" the Templar snarled between his teeth "Your father never taught you this? Oh, I forgot… he was the first to shed blood for revenge!"

"What would you do, if your father and brother got killed?" Marcello replied from on high "What would you do, if a _stronzo_ decides they're obstacles to his little perfect fucking world and has no qualm wiping them away, and he even dares to tell you to CALM DOWN?"

Giambattista tried to rise again holding to some crates. His left leg was covered in blood from his knee down, and he did not seem to be moving it at all. After such a hit, he would have remained lame for all his life, if he had not lost his leg. It was not a case Marcello had aimed to that very spot.

"I have no father nor brother. They're just puppets of your stupid Creed!" Giambattista replied with a sardonic grin on his face.

Had he lost his mind? Or was it only desire for revenge?

Alessio had his harquebus aimed on his head, but he did not shoot. One of the soldiers got the injured Templar by his shoulders and he supported him, ready to take him away.

Marcello didn't seem to be willing to shoot again.

"So brave, _ragazzino_! The son of the great Ezio Auditore does not finish off his target?" the Duke of Bourbon taunted him "Come on! What are you waiting for? Shoot!"

The Papal soldiers were pursuing the retreating landsknechts, and after giving a look and a nod to a group of buildings near them, Orazio followed them. They were almost alone, the three of them. Alone with the Duke.

The situation seemed to be almost a stalemate.

Until from the rooftops Orazio had looked at another bang rose, and Charles of Bourbon collapsed to the ground with a bleeding hole in his head.

Marcello got off the rooftop and approached the dying Templar.

"He was no target of mine. It was not my battle. I shouldn't have looked for revenge"

"How right you are, Marcello. You never said truer words"

With his harquebus still smoking on his shoulders, and the robes stained in blood and covered in dirt, Benvenuto Cellini had gone down from a roof.

And he was not alone.

* * *

><p><em>We had understood it was all over when we had heard the bang. If Alessio had not even recognized his master's harquebus from the bang.<em>

_I felt like crying, but I did not want to do it._

_I had never even seen Benvenuto, funny chap Benvenuto, so tense and scared._

_He immediately led us through a gallery, at a quick pace, heading who knew where._

_We noticed we were at La Volpe Addormentata only when we got out._

_Luckily, that zone of the city was still unperturbed. Benvenuto's companion had not spoken for all the time, and he had stayed busy looking around just like if he wanted to pierce with his gaze._

* * *

><p>"I should have expected that <em>inetto<em> would have betrayed the Order sooner or later!" was the first comment of the Assassin who had come with Benvenuto as soon as they saw daylight again "Benvenuto, are there still some horses here?"

"Sì – take the kids to Anzio and make sure they don't run. Or rather, I'll send them back to Firenze as soon as we can! I would like to know how the hell you arrived to the Vault!" Benvenuto replied looking scathingly at Alessio

"Giambattista kidnapped Flavia, and Alessio and I followed him" Marcello explained

"_Maestro_, it was my fault" Alessio said "I convinced Marcello to follow me. Machiavelli didn't want to intervene and could not send messages. I could not stand the thought she could be harmed while I was safe. Don't make them get a punishment. When Marcello found that message in a book…"

"What book?"

"Page seventy-two of _La Crociata Segreta_" Marcello explained "Van… the Capitano underlined some letters. Temple of Uni, Roma, Apple of Eden"

"You didn't open it… the Vault… did you?" Benvenuto asked

"How could I have done it?" Marcello replied with a shrug. Giovanni might have had left him the location of the Apple, but even he had been bound to have enough common sense to not reveal where was the key to open it.

"I don't think you'll ever need to do it. As for me, I've seen enough of that stupid metal ball for a lifetime" Benvenuto's friend intervened.

He had dark hair bound in a ponytail, very thick eyebrows, a week's growth of beard and a nose quite big compared to his face. Likely, he was not much older than Benvenuto, but his protruding forehead and square face made him look older than he was, at least compared to the Florentine Assassin's childish sneer. Even without him looking in a peculiar way at something, his gaze was terribly sharp.

"As for you, boy… what's your name, Marcello? You have a good aim. Who taught you to hold a weapon?"

"Long story" Marcello explained giving a faint smile "I used to read out loud the soldiers' letters and they taught me how to shoot in exchange. But that was two years ago"

The Assassin hinted at a smile, something Marcello could not relate neither to sadness nor to happiness.

"You are Marcello Auditore" the man said after a sigh "_Non puoi essere che tu_"

Marcello burst into laughter.

"_Ma no, guardate_! Who else could I be, messere?"

"Sì, Giovanni also told me about your humor! I'm happy to see you still have it" the Assassin said holding out his hand "It's a pleasure to meet you. Giovanni Borgia"

"Pleasure is all mine" Marcello grinned him back as he shook his hand.

"Watch it, Borgia, I don't want your grandfather to turn in the grave so much he might cause an earthquake!" Benvenuto, who had fully come back to himself, chuckled

"If it didn't happen when my finger was marked, it won't happen now" Giovanni resolved showing Benvenuto his left hand

So _he_ was Giovanni Borgia, Brutus, the former Child of Rome, the runaway, Giovanni de'Medici's best friend before he met Pietro.

"Something's on your mind?"

"Me? No!"

"Bene, 'cause I have something to make you three think about. Who can hold the reins of a galloping horse?"

* * *

><p><em>The three of us could, but Alessio volunteered to hold the reins stating Marcello and I were tired.<em>

_Then again, he was not so wrong. You could read the tiredness on Marcello's face, and not so much for the climb but for all the emotions of that day. As for me, in the previous days I had hardly eaten and slept._

_Alessio carried me and Giovanni took Marcello. I think it was then I fell asleep for a while, because I don't remember anything of that journey, anything but Zia Claudia's reaction when we arrived: she burst out into the worst bluster we remember._

* * *

><p><em>May 6th, 1527, Anzio<em>

"Do you realize the danger you were in and you almost put the entire Brotherhood in? If the Templars had laid their hands on the Apple… or on you…"

"They had _already_ laid their hands on Flavia" Alessio intervened

They were in what seemed the part in the best state of an old Roman villa. Despite walls and ceilings were propped, the building seemed pretty safe, and half the floor was covered in blankets, pillows and pallets.

Luckily, the room was empty: Marcello and Alessio already were the portrait of shame in presence of Zia Claudia and Giovanni Borgia, let alone all the Apprentices of the Roman Guild.

"Didn't you think we might have put a Brother on the traitor's trail?" Zia Claudia replied "Do you really think that after at least three dead Assassins someone was not inquiring? That we weren't lying in wait for them at the Vault? As for you, Marcello, getting exposed without thinking at the consequences. It was YOU, the first they tried to kidnap!"

"I defended myself" Marcello mumbled looking at his own feet

"You shouldn't have been there at all! Maybe you didn't get it! Your master thought he could work anything out on his own, and look where his stubbornness led him to!"

"You would have saved Nonno and Zio Federico and Zio Petruccio too if you had had a sword or something!" Marcello shouted back at her. It was the second time someone spoke ill of Giovanni de'Medici, and the second time Marcello answered to the point.

Zia Claudia's five fingers smacked his face, and Marcello took his hand to the injured spot and almost cried.

He did not cry. A tear fell from his eyes, he looked at Zia Claudia with the offended gaze of someone sure to be right, but he stayed silent, his hand still on his cheek.

Zia Claudia's reaction had doubtlessly been of the same kind of Marcello's, because she was staring at him, without saying a word, certainly aware she had lost control.

Marcello had hit her weak spot just like she had hit his.

Giovanni Borgia, too, seemed to be ill at ease, because he cleared his throat and mumbled something about a report he had to make.

"Speak, Giovanni" Zia Claudia said

"When Benvenuto and I were in sight of Bourbon, he and Giambattista were giving a lot of trouble to Orazio and his men. And I know too much about poisons to not know Giambattista's dagger was soaked with hemlock. If he had hit Orazio, we would have had to find another Assassin to lead the Bande Nere before we arrived here. Marcello as it seemed had noticed it, because he had started to pelt the Templars with bruised apples from the roof of a stable"

"Pelt the Templars _with bruised apples_?" Zia Claudia hissed at Marcello

"Madonna Claudia, I was speaking. Then those two jumped out of a hideout, to help without doubt" Giovanni continued in a calm voice "Giambattista started taunting them. When he mentioned… when he mentioned old Medici, Marcello lost his temper. He grabbed the harquebus he had on his shoulders and shot him on the knee. And I think he has done it on purpose, didn't you, Marcello?"

Marcello nodded, shame written all over his face.

"Now, Claudia, if you don't mind I'd ask three questions to the kids" Giovanni resolved with a grin "Have you harmed innocents?"

"There was a boy… in the galleries" Alessio grumbled "Attilio. He had a horrible wound on his belly, Marcello said he was done for. He asked me to kill him. Attilio, I mean. I did not want to but I did it"

"Bravo. When someone is dying, put an end to his suffering maybe is the best thing you can do"

Alessio sobbed.

"I hated him" he said "I wanted to smash his face for all the times he had beaten me up. But I would have never wanted to kill him"

"His real killer was the man who had wounded him before you" Giovanni said shaking his head "Yours was an act of mercy. It should make you proud. Now, second question. Why did you let the enemy see you?"

"To distract them" Marcello intervened "Orazio would have died if they had gotten too close. But they wouldn't have shot me, they didn't do it at Governolo, _figurati_… I didn't want somebody else to die. But shooting at Giambattista, that was a mistake, I admit it, I wanted him to feel the same pain he had inflicted to Vanni. I wanted revenge. I got it wrong. He had told me not to do it"

This time it was Zia Claudia who grinned.

"Your father at seventeen did the same thing. But he never judged what he did as a mistake. As it seems hair is not the only thing you took after your mother"

"What do you mean?" Marcello asked while his flush partly faded.

"Common sense. The same thing that made your mother stop your father when he attacked Sultan Selim" Zia Claudia said "As it seems, you're not exactly hopeless, nipote"

"_D'accordo_. Third and last question, Alessio and Marcello. What do you think would have happened, if you had stayed in San Piero a Sieve with the other refugees?"

"No Brother or Sister died, as far as we've seen" Alessio intervened "We also helped the Bande Nere… well, Flavia helped them. And Marcello saved Orazio. And if we had not arrived in time, Bourbon would have harmed Flavia."

"Very well, Claudia. Do not shed the blood of innocents, and they carefully avoided it. Stay hidden, and they did it as long as they could do it without other Brothers being harmed. What they did is a _cretinata_, _d'accordo_, but they demonstrated us they could manage it. Not all twelve-year-olds can do it"

"_Cretinata_? You call that a _cretinata_? People in peril of their lives don't always have to be saved at all costs, I thought you knew _that_!"

"Are you scared, Claudia?" Giovanni scowled at her

"Why are you asking?"

"Who is scared, for any reason, who fears for the people he loves, is prone to do things he would never do in his right mind. My father broke the three Tenets fearing for my life. Marcello ran off fearing for his sister's life. And what are you doing now you realize what risk your nephew and niece have just run? Fear has different faces, but it's the same for every person"

"What should I do, in your opinions? Rules are the same for everyone" Zia Claudia replied

"You should wait for the fear to fade. You can." Giovanni resolved "As for the kids, I'll take them back myself to San Piero a Sieve tomorrow morning. Now my help is no longer required to identify the mole, I'm no longer needed here. It's them we have to watch, and if I have to, I can assure you I'll keep a watch on them"

"Forget Brutus, you're a descendant of Cicero for sure!" Zia Claudia replied, then gave a sigh and shook her head "Don't lose sight of them for a second, not even here. If someone asks you why, spill the beans, everything apart from the Apple"

* * *

><p><em>At least Alessio thought he had been pardoned. But as soon as the other Apprentices came back in, obviously their first question was why on Earth we were there. And Giovanni Borgia, as he had been ordered, spilled the beans.<em>

_Alessio and Marcello stayed for the remainder of the day holed up in a corner, avoiding the others' stare and leaving their sanctuary only to eat._

_At the sunset, Giovanni thought we had undergone enough stares for that day and took us to the sea shore._

* * *

><p><em>May 6th, 1527, Anzio, beach<em>

"It's ironic, you know, ragazzi? This town gave birth to two tyrants, Nero and Caligula. And now it's an Assassins' den" Giovanni commented sinking his boots in the wet sand "Sometimes life does everything to laugh in your face. Or worse, to take something or someone from you when you least expect it. And strong as you can be…"

"When you lose someone dear is like if you break your knees, you could need years before you can stand again… if you ever will" Marcello intercepted him "Who of you two invented this?"

"Neither of the two. It's Francesco's work" Giovanni answered "He told me it when I was a small boy. When he had saved me from my uncle, he was always depressed anyway. I asked him if something was wrong, and he answered me that the woman he loved had died in a fire. I did not understand how could someone who had died hurt so much the living"

"Tessa Varzi, wasn't she? I heard his brother mentioning her two years ago" Alessio intervened

"Sì. Francesco was… he was _distrutto_. As far as I understood then, the soldiers of Marquis de la Motte had trapped his team in an inn and had set fire to it. He loved her, but he had never managed to tell her, to step forward. He also told me one more thing in those days. He told me to live each day as my last, to never postpone something to the day after, because I would have never known when I would have lost someone. But you never learn this lesson, not until you taste fear or pain"

The waves kept going back and forth on the sand. Compared to the hell they had seen and experienced in Roma, that place seemed at peace with the world.

"Why did you take us here?" Marcello grabbed the courage and asked Giovanni

"I thought you might have wanted to set matters straight without the riffraff listening" Giovanni said shrugging "Because you have to set matters straight, don't you? Come on, you boys haven't seen Flavia for days, I guess you have something to say. Apart from how much stupid the boys have been, Flavia, they have understood it for sure"

Flavia chuckled, while Alessio's face quickly turned purple.

"It looked so easy when Marcello and I made the plan!" he burst out "Had I known you were in there, Messer Borgia, doesn't matter how much the topastro could have screamed, I wouldn't have moved from San Piero a Sieve!"

"You liar!" Marcello chuckled

"And impolite too" Giovanni piled it on "Then again I'd never compare Marcello to a mouse"

"He's talking about Cosimo" Flavia intervened "Cosimo de'Medici. Alessio cannot stand him. He's jealous in my opinion"

"Who's jealous?" Alessio burst out

"Both you and Cosimo!" Flavia smirked giving him a look that immediately reminded Marcello of Papà "Giovanni is right, life does everything to laugh in your face. In Fiesole, Marcello and I were two against the world, and now people fight to be our friends!"

"Let's say it might be _slightly_ related to the fact that then we were the barmy kids of the town and now we are the Prophet's children" Marcello said with a sneer

"Shut your face! Both Cosimo and I were your friends even before knowing it!" Alessio replied grinning back "Even if, now that I notice it, you're barmy indeed"

"_Ma va là_!" Marcello resolved giving him a push.

Their brief adventure, the fear of those days, the tiredness, even the shame of a few moments before, everything seemed far and forgotten. In some time, the three kids that that very morning had handled weapons had started pushing each other in the sand, throwing themselves on the ground or in the water, getting dirty and wet, without either of the three really caring about it.

It was so strange, the thought that it was the first time since they had met they _played_, without thinking at training, danger, at someone they had lost…

When they stopped to catch their breath, they all were covered in sand and wet, Alessio had seaweed in his hair and Flavia had taken off her shoes.

"You'll pay for this, Marcè" Alessio commented taking the seaweed off his hair with the same disgusted look he would have had touching phlegm.

"What's wrong, Falcone, are you afraid of weeds?" Marcello replied "_Poor_ town kid! Now the seaweeds will eat you!"

"Bah, _boys_!" Flavia resolved shaking her head and making them burst into laughter.

"By the way…" she then said turning serious "Alessio, I wanted to thank you"

"For what? Saving your life? For you I'd do much more!" Alessio said taking more seaweed off his hair

"No, you idiot" Flavia replied removing the last piece of seaweed and throwing it into the water "I know you would. But you helped Marcello"

"So what?"

Maybe it was the answer Flavia was expecting, or maybe she was surprised, but Alessio did not even have the time to finish speaking before Flavia hugged him.

"Ahem… can we leave them alone?" Marcello asked getting close to Giovanni, with a warmth in his face that surely had nothing to do with the setting sun. It seemed a bit inappropriate to him having to look while his sister hugged a boy, even if the boy was his best friend.

"I don't think so, I'm supposed to keep an eye on you" Giovanni replied raising his shoulders "Even if I think no one will die if we turn…"

* * *

><p><em>We left the morning after, but not before Benvenuto came to greet us, announcing he had been promoted team leader on the field and calling Alessio the bravest fool he had ever seen.<em>

_Marcello was still ridden with guilt, but when Zia Claudia squeezed him in a hug and stamped a kiss on his cheek he was the same as ever again… and as he had always done, he put up a nice fight not to be kissed. He surely would have preferred being called a fool by his master._

_As for me… I could not wait to be home again._

* * *

><p><strong><em>And this is done too!<em>**

**_As he said in his autobiography, Benvenuto Cellini DID kill Charles of Bourbon. Let's say that is the reason why he's in the story. Come on by the way, he was an ante litteram sharpshooter!_**

**_As for Giovanni Borgia, for who does not know him, he also appears in Project Legacy. Then again, who wants to know more about Francesco and Giovanni and does not want to play Facebook games, just check out LightningFistCal's AC works on deviantART. They are side characters but they DO appear. (I'm not sure I spelled right the username, by the way he's pretty famous in the AC groups)_**

**_As for the "Desmo" Alessio talks about... I'll just say he misheard. I'll let you draw the conclusions._**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Fuori = out of here<strong>_

_**Arianna = Ariadne**_

_**Stronzi = assholes**_

_**Idioti = idiots**_

_**Mocciosi = nippers**_

_**Povero illuso = poor dreamer**_

_**Ragazzino = kid**_

_**Inetto = good-for-nothing**_

_**Maestro = teacher**_

_**Non puoi essere che tu = you cannot be anyone else, it's too obvious it's you**_

_**Ma no, guardate = You don't say (AGAIN! But this is slightly more formal)**_

_**Figurati = fancy that**_

_**Nipote = nephew**_

_**D'accordo = OK**_

_**Cretinata = stupid thing, something that should not have been done**_

_**Cicero = Marcus Tullius Cicero, a Roman politician who lived in the same period of Brutus and Caesar. Famous for his speeches.**_

_**Distrutto = a wreck**_

_**Ma va là = get away with you**_


	14. Borgia and Medici

"_**Ah, Constantine…" and blah, blah, blah is quoted from Dante Alighieri's "Inferno", and is a part of an invective against corrupted clergy.**_

* * *

><p><em>Marcello was already growing fond of Giovanni. The thing seemed more ironic than else at the time, even if, all in all, he was a nice guy like Benvenuto and a responsible person, but from the day after we met, he started acting strange with Marcello. He tried not to talk to him, he hardly looked at him.<em>

_There was something strange, but I didn't understand what._

* * *

><p>Chapter 13<p>

Borgia and Medici

* * *

><p><em>May 8, 1527, on the road<em>

They had been riding for more than a day, each on a horse, and Giovanni had not even wanted them to stop: even at lunchtime, the day before, they had eaten on the saddles, and it had already been a lot if they had actually camped out for the night.

Alessio had immediately noticed he was avoiding Marcello, that idiot. He already knew Borgia, just like he had known Giovanni de'Medici, but he had never seen him acting that way.

Maybe someone had to make him squeal, and Alessio had half an idea of who could have done it.

"I hope after all this racket Benvenuto will be allowed to come back to Florence… he can't put a foot in there since he was sixteen" he started.

Giovanni made a bitter smile.

"I doubt it. If the Pope's puppets leave Firenze, I doubt old Clement could do too much without a _longa manus_, even now Benvenuto succeeded where the Swiss Guards failed. And Orazio Baglioni… well, Jacopo Salviati raps on his fingers whenever he slightly wants to do it his way, so he literally hangs on Benvenuto's words"

"Cosimo says his gramps is an idiot" Marcello intervened

"Who, Salviati? Oh, he is. And you're talking to someone who knows a lot about idiot relatives. Every time I was in his sight, he looked at me just like if I had just came out of a donkey's butt. He's a combiner, a social climber… an _ass-kisser_. I won't tell you the stink he caused when he found out his precious ward climbed buildings and stabbed people. He sent him back to Firenze in a haste, he made him marry his daughter Maria Salviati, and he trusted him with a company of soldiers. He thought he was going to put his feet on the ground… and two weeks after his arrival, Medici sent me a letter… he had met someone who had told him to not give up"

"I know how things went, Messer Borgia. _I was there_" Marcello intervened

Giovanni stayed silent and spurred his horse.

"Let's move" he said looking at Flavia "We could be in Firenze tonight if we are fast enough"

"Sì, let's move, let's move" Alessio burst out "_Let's move my ass_! Not even the _topastro_ acted that way! Ya don't know a thing! All you can do is staying quiet, and don' think I ain't seen ya in these days, looking in the orbits of that sort of useless thing you have in your bag!"

"Don't mind him, Alessio" Marcello mumbled

"Don't mind? Marcè, where's that boy who stood up to those bastards and made one of them never stand up properly again? You have all the rights to be angry!"

"Not with a Brother"

"He's not your bro. He wasn't there when it happened. And you have the right to call yourself a friend of Giovanni de'Medici just like he and Pietro have. Even more maybe, they didn't hold that candlelight"

"Candle?" Giovanni asked stopping his horse

"It's his own business" Alessio cut short

"That's the point. His own business, not yours, Falcone. Your father couldn't rip me off, neither can you" Giovanni resolved "Sì, I knew your father. Sì again, I didn't tell you, and sincerely, when on Earth did you pay attention to me when you hardly did it with other Assassins?"

He stayed silent for another moment.

"It must be noon. We're stopping"

Alessio looked puzzled at him, but he stopped his horse and got off, while Flavia and Marcello did the same.

"Strange as it may seem, the two stories complete each other" Giovanni said tying his horse to a fence and taking the food bag "In 1513, Medici gave his name for the Papal Army. They never sent him anywhere actually, Salviati personally made sure his butt was safe, so he kept spending his time with me at Tiber Island. Compared to his first month in there, when he climbed the aqueducts near the barracks and stared at the road, his behavior had improved, but I could see he could not stay still. So we started tracking down criminals on our own. Usurers, unfaithful husbands, corrupted soldiers, priests harassing women and children, small fish, but it was something useful and we were busy…"

_Filippo… your father, Alessio… in a certain sense helped us. He roamed around the streets and told us what he saw. We had told him to quit, we both had told him._

* * *

><p><em>June 1515, Roma<em>

"Stop insisting, _ragazzi_. You should say grazie I'm helping you. Do you realize all that we're doing is removing fertile soil for Templars?"

"That's not the point" Medici burst out as little Alessio tugged at his hood "Borgia and I know what it means to grow up without a father. We don't want Alessio here to have the same fate"

"Giovanni, you're getting married next year, aren't you?"

"Maybe. First we have to see when I'm going back home" Medici answered trying to keep the little urchin away from him "I think Maria is the only reason why I'd be glad to be there… stay still for once, _fetente_!"

Filippo shook his head and grinned, then he took Alessio from Giovanni's arms.

"Just you wait, your kid will do the same" he commented "When you'll have one. Now think you already have a son. Would you rather give your life for him to have a happy one or… Alessio! Don't put your thumb in there!"

Giovanni couldn't help laughing when Filippo had to grab Alessio's wrist to prevent the toddler from sucking his thumb.

"My child will still have his mother. And I may not stand Messer Salviati, but he'll be his grandfather" Medici said sitting on the nearest chair "Filippo, you and Alessio are alone. We can't let you do this"

Filippo did not turn a hair.

"Do you think it's better doing the right thing or the easy one? Today it's usurers and priest, tomorrow they might be Templars! We always need someone to keep an eye on them. And if that Lodovico _ttremone_ doesn't do it…"

"For me the Mentore will always remain Ezio" Medici said leaning on the table "By the way, the child he and his wife were going to have… he should be as old as Alessio, no? Do you think he will be admitted into the Order when…?"

"I don't think you could train _a girl_ in the Papal Army" Filippo intervened "Sì, Claudia told me it's a girl. But eight months ago, they also had a boy… the kid quite gave them the scare. They thought he would have been a cripple until he hit his father's face with a kick"

"With all the people in this world, Ezio had to get a kick in the face from his very son!" Giovanni said chuckling "And it seemed just yesterday we were the nippers!"

"Speak for yourself, I'm the first of my family in the Order" Medici replied "And I hope I won't be the last, I don't think the posterity will give a damn to my branch. I actually wouldn't give a fuck to land or shit like that, I just want the world to have never again an arse like Ces… like the Templars"

"You can say Cesare, I hate him" Giovanni resolved "I don't think your Jacopo Salviati hit you on the head to teach you how to fight. Francesco had to…"

* * *

><p><em>At that point, I told him Francesco had had to bend over backwards to anticipate the recruitment with me, or…<em>

"… I would have never been taken away from Castel Sant'Angelo before my eighth birthday. In a certain sense, Francesco saved my life at that point, because Cesare would have likely attacked me, too, when he attacked my grandfather and my mother… I was only five"

"Eight?" Alessio asked "What? The kids in the Roman Guild were all about eleven years old…"

"If a child born into the Order loses his parents, or the parent who is actually in the Order, at the age of eight or if he is older, he is recruited and trained until he is able to defend himself. At that point, he decides whether to stay or leave, even if there aren't too many kids who decided to leave the Brotherhood. Usually the ones who stay have reasons like their parents' memory, the fact that the Brotherhood has actually become home for them… for me it was the second, for example, I never knew my father. Usually if you choose to stay there's a high-ranked Master Assassin who starts giving you doubts, to test your resolve. If you're motivated enough, you can stay"

"Eight years old…" Marcello mumbled "Cosimo will be eight next month!"

"What? _Cosimo_?" Alessio burst out "_No, lui no_. Not him in the Brotherhood!"

* * *

><p><em>We didn't think about Giovanni Borgia's ill temper for a while, at least not when Alessio was busy listing one by one all the disasters that would have happened if Cosimo had been admitted into the Brotherhood. Marcello let him speak for quite a while, then he sneered and reminded him that it had been thanks to Cosimo if they had arrived in Roma with enough weapons.<em>

_Alessio's face was priceless._

_Unfortunately, he has always been the artist in our trio, or I would have made sure someone made a portrait of him. Marcello was laughing so hard he risked to fall off his horse!_

_When we arrived in Firenze darkness was already falling, but Giovanni didn't want us to stop, at least until, in Piazza San Lorenzo, we were stopped by an old acquaintance of ours._

* * *

><p>"Oh, <em>cielo<em>…"

A very tall, strapping boy with a broadsword strapped to his belt and the face covered by a hood had just spoken.

"Mentore! Liberata!"

If the face hadn't been of help at all, the voice gave no doubt to Marcello: that man was Cecchino, Benvenuto's younger brother. As it seemed, he had managed to buy his pardon.

"The kids… the kids are back!"

Francesco Vecellio and a girl in Apprentice robes in her early twenties came out from behind a corner.

"If I find out it's one of your pranks, Cecchino…" the girl said pointing at his chest in a menacing way "If it was, really, you're carrying it too far"

"Francesco!"

Flavia had not waited for Cecchino and the young woman to set matters straight: she had jumped off her horse and reached her mentor.

"Oh, I can't believe it!" the girl exclaimed

"You should, _sorellina_. Benvenuto did tell Marcello was far more _in gamba_ than his master!"

"Shut your trap, _Giovanfrancesco_"

"Don't. Call me. Giovanfrancesco!"

"Cecchino, Liberata, chill out, alright?" Francesco intervened, even if his voice easily showed he was anything but calm "Flavia… are you alright? What happened?"

"Before you say anything, Francesco" Giovanni said getting off his horse "Sì, Marcello and Alessio saved her from Templars. And Claudia has already punished them enough as soon as she found it out. Oh, and Marcello left a quite evident mark on Giambattista"

"Did he kill him?" Cecchino asked

"No, he crippled him with an harquebus shot" Giovanni explained "I've seen him from afar, the distance wasn't too much but that was a first-rate shot for his age"

"Well that's a nice job for a boy! I'd mind his training if it wasn't for Berto, it was old Giovanni who taught me how to fight before I was assigned to a master anyway…"

"Benvenuto… is he alright?" Liberata asked

"He is" Alessio said, while he and Marcello reached the ground "He blew the Duke of Bourbon away without even being seen!"

"Your brother is more thick-skinned than he seems. I wouldn't be too surprised to see him still running around in his seventies!" Giovanni resolved with a smirk "Now, if you please, we're heading to _Villa del Trebbio_"

"I'm coming with you" Liberata intervened "They won't open the door if they don't recognize you. As far as they know, it could even be a trap"

"Liberata!" Francesco burst out in a reproaching tone.

"Well, anyone can affirm he is an Assassin, but if he has never been around there, they don't know him, and one of Machiavelli's children has devised a whole system of watchwords… by the way, messere, what's your name?"

"Giovanni Borgia di Pedro Calderon. Your brothers already know me"

Liberata nibbled at her lip for a moment, then she grinned and hold out a hand.

"Pleased to meet you, messer Giovanni. I'm _Veterano_ Liberata Cellini. Follow me, there's a stable near here, and I think you might want to change horses"

"See if you can send Berto here, we need another man to patrol!" Cecchino yelled at Liberata as they left the square.

Liberata led them to a stable watched by two boys in Apprentice robes, and they took five horses before heading north-east, after telling one of the two boys, Berto for sure, that his master wanted him to join the patrol.

"We all feared the worst" Liberata told Giovanni as they went up the road that led to Fiesole and San Piero a Sieve "Three kids, I mean, in a city under siege, coming to grips with Templars… little Cosimo was unrecognizable in these days, he cried, he chewed his nails, he even kicked his teacher…"

"They were able to defend themselves. And anyway, there were Benvenuto, Orazio and I in that zone. Probably, thanks to their intervention, things have gone better, but we would have gotten them, we were lying in wait"

Marcello suppressed a yawn. He had never felt so tired since the days before the Battle of Governolo, when he had spent almost a whole night awake.

"Maybe we should have stayed in two on the horses" Liberata said "I think Marcello is a bit tired"

"Who's tired?" Marcello slurred

There was no way of convincing them: in less than no time, Giovanni had tied the reins of his horse to the saddle of his own.

If when they had arrived to Firenze the sun had been setting, it was pitch black when they came in sight of the turret of the old Medici villa. The drawbridge was raised, and around there was an almost unnatural silence, the same of Curtatone when they had found the gate closed.

Marcello felt a surge of panic, but he quickly calmed down when he saw a pair of lights on the walls, which moved every then and now: this time, no one would have left them outside.

Liberata got off the horse and emitted a shriek towards the door.

"Who's there?" fifteen-year-old Guido Machiavelli's voice asked from a wooden sentry box on the walls.

"Guido, open the door, it's Liberata Cellini!"

"Watchword?"

"_Ah Constantine, of how much ill was mother, not your conversion, but that dower, that you bestowed upon the first rich father!_"

With a creak and a thump, the drawbridge was lowered.

"What takes you here, Liberata? I thought you weren't coming here before tomor…" Guido said leaning in the archway "Altair's breeches! You're back!" he burst out noticing Flavia and Marcello "I can't believe it! You did it! When we found out you were gone…"

"Easy, boy. They are tired, all three of them, they faced the very Templars, they'd better go straightaway in their rooms… do you remember where are they, don't you?" Giovanni intervened "And go and look for your mother, you two, she'll surely be worried for you. Flavia, maybe you'd better hold your brother"

"I'm not tired" Marcello replied

"Sì, and Cesare Borgia is my father. Come on, go!" Giovanni resolved pointing at the inner courtyard "As for you, Guido, is that your name? Go to bed too, Liberata and I will keep the watch for tonight"

"You're not doing anything, Borgia" Liberata replied as Guido disappeared into the building

"If you think you can make a hit with me, I'm already taken"

"And I am already _married_. Just, I have slept enough for a night patrol in Firenze, and you have been traveling for… how much? Two days?"

"Alright, alright, you won. Come on, _ragazzi_, before Liberata assails us"

They barely had the time to cross the courtyard when a sort of white-clad lightning darted out of the door and clung to Marcello.

"I knew it, I knew you would have come back!" the squeak of Cosimo, muffled in an oversized nightshirt, arrived to Marcello's ears.

"Seriously, Cosimo, what are you doing here?" Marcello asked him suppressing another yawn.

"You should ask Guido why he isn't mounting guard! I should kick his butt!"

"Liberata took over from him" Flavia intervened

"Yet I don't think someone took over from you" Alessio continued

"I'm not the only one out of my bed! Guido went around the corridors shouting you're back!" Cosimo grinned "Did you kill the evil Templars?"

"Not quite, if you don't consider the landsknechts Flavia turned into pincushions" Alessio said "But Marcello here gave Giambattista tit for tat. He hit his knee with a harquebus bullet!"

"Great!"

"_Ragazzi_… inside" Giovanni Borgia intervened

"Who do you think you are?" Cosimo asked frowning at him

"The introductions tomorrow" Giovanni resolved as they crossed the door "Everyone in now"

* * *

><p><em>May 9, 1527, San Piero a Sieve<em>

It was not the first time Alessio had to share a bed, but that was one of those moments in which he wished he had spent the night in a room alone.

"_Pussa via, topastro_"

"You _puzza via_, this is my home" mumbled Cosimo, who was lying down _exactly_ next to him. Judging by the fact Flavia and Marcello were on the other side, they had for sure fallen asleep, the four of them, as soon as they had entered the room.

"All right, when the four of you are fully awake, let me know" said Francesco, who was leaning against a wall just near them.

Flavia was already sitting on the edge of the bed, while Marcello was hauling himself up and had grumbled a "morning" in a thick voice.

"I think we're awake" Cosimo said with a smirk that Alessio would have really liked to erase with a smack.

"Very well" Francesco resolved leaving the wall and walking towards them "Cosimo, if you please, you can go and eat something if you want to, what I have to tell you is different from what I have to tell the others. I'll send Liberata to look for you when…"

"Francesco, _no_" said the other occupant of the room, Machiavelli, who seemed to have many more white hairs than the ones Alessio remembered "We have already discussed and I thought I had given my opinion on this"

"He has a right to know the truth" Francesco replied "At _the least_. He was born into the Brotherhood just like me, you or Marcello. The fact he _knows_ doesn't mean he _must stay_. Tiziano decided to leave after two years of training with our father"

"You wouldn't say so if you really knew the boy"

"But what are they talking about?" Flavia asked fuming "Please, don't tell me it's the old argument of Ferrara!"

"It is the argument of Ferrara" Marcello answered her in a resigned tone

"Francesco, you're the Mentore, just speak out!" Flavia intervened jumping to her feet

"Will you stop it?" Cosimo intervened standing up in turn and coming between them "I do know. You're – all – As-sas-sins. Babbo was too. And he told me it when I was five."

Alessio was expecting Francesco to get cross, but he only burst into laughter. Machiavelli's face was a stone mask instead.

"I know where's Babbo's old hidden blade. And also the armor of Great Master Al…ta… something"

"He had _the armor of Altair_?" Machiavelli burst out "And never used it? _Idiota_! He'd likely be still alive if he had not locked it who knows where! He and his bloody fair play!"

"What's so special with this armor?" Alessio asked

"A cannon shot wouldn't break it" Francesco sighed "I knew Ezio had trusted someone with it after taking it from Monteriggioni, he had given the armor of Brutus to Giovanni Borgia so I supposed Altair's had been given to someone else… Benvenuto, maybe. You know how he's like, if he just hears Altair he acts like a child on Christmas Day"

"_Già_, I daren't think at the face he'd have if he met a descendant" Alessio resolved "But now we cannot think at what that armor could have done… he likely kept it…"

_For Marcello_, he would have wanted to say, but a voice in his head kept telling him he should not have finished the sentence.

"All right. We got it. Now, the three of you, I think you have shown you're able to defend yourselves on your own" Francesco said "I've been told you know about the recruitment rules. I guess you also know what I'm about to ask you. Are you willing to stay or to leave the Order?"

There was a moment of silence, shattered by Marcello's "I stay!"

"You stay? Are you sure?" Francesco asked "I thought what you have already done was enough"

"What is he playing at? He is the Mentore…" Cosimo mumbled

"He's doing it on purpose" Flavia whispered near him "He wants to understand if Marcello is really sure. If he accepts now, he accepts for his whole life"

"Enough?" Marcello was saying in the meantime "It's not over until you have strength. War is coming back, messer Francesco, it's because I've seen it that I want to stay. I've lost loved ones because of the Templars, I risked to lose Flavia. What if it happens to Mamma next? Or to Cosimo? If I'm twelve years old and I have already assassinated Frundsberg…"

"Even with your best intentions you could make the worst mistakes, Marcello. Look at Ludovico Ariosto and his son. Look at what happened to Savonarola. Would you be willing to take the responsibility of taking the wrong person, of the wrong action, of a team killed because of your decision?"

"A Master Assassin once said it's better take a stand and fail, than not to take it and live with the regret" Marcello resolved "There's no such thing as destiny, but I feel I have it in my blood… alright, I know I won't convince you with this, but I don't want to see Firenze and Roma and the whole Italia fall into the hands of Templars and think I did nothing to prevent it from happening"

There were tense moments in which he and Francesco looked in each other's eyes without speaking. Then Francesco grinned and hold out his hand.

"Very good. You passed the test. I'd say a place in the Brotherhood belongs to you as right… just like the rank of Assistente for your action in the siege"

_Assistente_? Was he putting a kid like Marcello in the third rank?

"Grazie…" Marcello murmured in an unbelieving tone

"Will I be an Assistente, too, when I'll be thirteen?" asked Cosimo, provoking laughter in the other occupants of the room

"I'll stay, too" Flavia intervened

"I wouldn't have had any doubts on _you_" Francesco answered her hinting at a smile "But for a girl it's harder. Let alone the fact they might consider you the weak ring of the chain, Templars and Brothers alike. And… it's a life of sacrifice. It's quite likely you'll never marry."

"You're telling me to give up just because I'm a girl?" Flavia replied with a note of rancor in her voice

Francesco paled and took a hand to his forehead.

"I'd be dead if Tessa was here" he murmured "No, I'm not telling you to give up just because you're a girl. I'm just telling you it would be harder for you than for your brother…"

"… because I'm a girl" Flavia resolved "Forgive me, Francesco, but there's no rhyme or reason for me to give up like that. Zia Claudia and Liberata did it, no? Well, I won't be the one who backs down"

"I admit the mistake was mine, but you demolished my point" Francesco resolved "You're still with us, Assistente Flavia"

It didn't take a genius to understand it was Alessio now the one who would have had to take a decision and give good reasons to gain the right to stay. Because he _wanted_ to stay.

Until two years before, he would have thought twice. But that had been before meeting Flavia and Marcello… before meeting Flavia. But it was out of the question he would have said in front of Francesco and Marcello… in front of Machiavelli and the Medici rat… that he quite thought he was in love.

Then again, he didn't think it would have been enough to convince the Mentore.

He believed in the Creed anyway. He did not understand why, but he did it. Assassins… _assassinated_, but he had never seen them abducting kids to reach their goals. They played fair.

And then… it had been in the Order he had felt _home_ for the first time. Someone had finally taken care of him, had made sure he was well every day, that he learned something that would have been really useful for his future, no matter if it was lost-wax casting or harquebus training.

"Even if I gave up, could I continue my apprenticeship with Benvenuto?" he asked "He was teaching me a craft anyway. I could make my living as a sculptor"

"You want to back down?" Cosimo burst out "_Vigliacco_!"

"I never said I _want_ to" Alessio replied "I stay, Francesco. This is the only family I have. You are the only family I have. Why should I want to leave?"

"A sculptor's life would be the best choice for you, I don't deny it. Clergymen and dukes already dispute for Benvenuto's works, yours would be too if you only said you're from his workshop. However… I'm more than ready to bet Benvenuto would not give up on you so easily, he loves you as much as he loves his siblings. He'd give away one or two of his fingers before allowing you to leave the Brotherhood" Francesco said "But when we tried to recruit you, I thought I understood you wanted nothing to do with us"

"I was eight. I was scared. I didn't understand"

"And now you do, don't you?" Francesco said looking at Flavia with the corner of his eye. Alessio immediately felt his face growing hot.

"All right" he said standing up "Just tell me when I can leave and go back to Benvenuto"

"I did not say I'm sending you away" Francesco told him gesturing him to sit "I don't know how many times I repeated you it, Alessio, but you're not the first boy I met in such a situation. The first… well, you know him"

"Francè, you keep repeating the same old story!" Alessio said exasperated

"The point is, I know you. You wouldn't betray the Order. You wouldn't go away without a good reason. And the very fact you showed yourself willing to go on with your sculptor apprenticeship _with Benvenuto _tells everything on how much you really want to stay. And you thought about it. Likely to find a good reason to counter mine. You're in, Alessio… or should I say Assistente?"

Alessio could not find words to describe his happiness. _He was allowed to stay_. He was allowed to keep taking classes from Benvenuto, to fight for what was right, he could stay with Marcello and _with Flavia_…

"Great! You all did it!" Cosimo squeaked jumping up and down

_And the rat. Mah, it's the price to pay._

"Now, Cosimo, as you already know the facts" Francesco told the kid "I don't think you'll need many explanations. Anyway you have to know the Assassins have three rules they have to respect. Their lives and the integrity of the Order is at stake if those rules are broken"

"So if I have to respect those rules it means I no longer have to sit up straight and respect manners and all those _stronzate_?"

"I think you still have to do that" Francesco said with a smirk, as Machiavelli left the room with an indecipherable grimace on his face.

"All right. What are the three rules? Does one say you always have to wear a hood?"

Francesco burst into laughter.

"No, the hood is just something so you don't get recognized too often. I mean, if Marcello didn't wear a hood on a mission… poor boy, he'd be found immediately!"

"Hey!" Marcello replied with a dirty look at Francesco

"Well he's right" Cosimo commented pointing at his eyebrow "If you show that scar around anyone could remember you!"

"By the way…" Francesco continued "The rules are: never harm innocents, never let yourself be spotted by the enemy, and never, ever provoke any damage to the Brotherhood. I think they're pretty easy, no?"

Cosimo nodded and grinned.

"Deal"

"Then you'll be joining us as soon as you're eight" Francesco said moving towards the door "Alessio, listen, can I have a word with you?"

"All the words you want" Alessio said with a shrug, even if he had a bad feeling about what Francesco was going to say.

Francesco waited for Marcello, Flavia and Cosimo to leave the room, then he sat on the bed again.

"So, I must suppose my hypothesis is right, isn't it?" he started "Why did you decide to stay, Alessio? I want the truth, all of it"

"What I say will change anything?" Alessio asked sitting down in turn

"No, nothing will change"

"This… is a cause in which I really believe in. We help people. And it's also what my father did… 'cause I bet he died that way, to serve the Creed, didn't he? And the Assassins are the only family I know, all in all, the Donati took care of me even when I refused to be recruited…"

"Alessio, I know this is true, but stop beating around the bush" Francesco replied turning serious "Are you in love?"

Alessio stayed silent and nodded.

"But it's not just for Flavia I want to stay" he corrected himself just after

"Easy, I already told you I'm not kicking you out" Francesco replied "Alessio, I went through it before you. Had I had the possibility, I would have challenged the whole world to save the woman I loved. But not all the stories have a happy ending"

"What… should I do, then?"

"Stay close to her, protect her if you can… seize the moment. We are Assassins, Alessio, you'll never know how long you'll be together. Step forward as soon as you can, don't have regrets"

"I'm afraid, Francesco. Flavia and I are friends…"

"I went through it before you. I know what you're afraid of. And Flavia doesn't seem the kind of person who would start avoiding you just because she doesn't return your love"

"But… how can I step forward?"

"This, how, where and when, you'll have to mind yourself" Francesco said standing up "I know, it's not easy. You'll always be afraid until it's done"

"How did it happen to you?" Alessio asked raising an eyebrow

"Well, we were getting dry in an inn during a rainstorm. They had only one spare room and…"

"_Oho_!" Alessio let slip, imagining what had happened during the storm.

He felt like laughing, but he held himself back seeing how much Francesco was getting clouded. How much his partner, died years before in a fire, was still making him suffer?

"I'm sorry" Alessio muttered between his teeth quickly getting out of the room

He was going to start looking for his friends when Francesco's voice reached him from the room.

"You have nothing to apologize for. See you at the assembly"

* * *

><p><em>We spent the rest of the day – the whole day – inside the walls of the villa, even if, for the first time since our introduction in the Brotherhood, we were allowed to attend to Liberata and Cecchino's reports on the situation in the city without us being there by chance.<em>

* * *

><p>"There are still many Piagnoni in the city. In my opinion, it is to them we have to pass the torch as soon as Alessandro will be thrown out" Cecchino was saying<p>

"Piagnoni? Who's weeping?" Alessio said with a smirk

"Savonarola's supporters" Flavia whispered in his ear "Many years ago they raised quite the ruckus in Firenze, but it was because Savonarola had the Apple. Now they don't really harm anyone, they'd do more good then else now instead"

"People say Michelangelo is on their side" Marcello added

"Big deal, Michelangelo… the Secta Luporum guys are less beastly than him" Alessio fumed

"He's kind anyway" Marcello replied "Cecchino, what about the Palleschi? Would they cause us problems?"

Cecchino shook his head and chuckled.

"They'll want to get rid of Alessandro just like we do, they'd never put a spoke in our wheels. The devil they didn't understand what kind of bastard is that boy!"

"What about the Palleschi…" Alessio asked "Don't tell me they're particularly well-endowed down there…"

"Ha, ha, you're _so_ funny" Marcello replied "They're Medici supporters … or better, they _were_, when the Medici deserved supporters"

"I wouldn't have said it better" Liberata said, from her seat near Zio Niccolò.

"In brief, the city might be one step away from uprising, but it could take weeks or months before things become concrete. And in months, His Holiness could seize control again and goodbye revolution" Cecchino resolved

"We cannot lead an uprising" Zio Niccolò intervened "Not us. If anyone of us takes command of the factions, as soon as the Medici will come back there will be another manhunt"

"We don't have to necessarily be us in person" Liberata intervened "But we can give the Piagnoni a push"

"A _push_, Liberata?" Cecchino asked "You'd want to go there and shove the Piagnoni?"

"_Scemo_"

"You are really three characters" Alessio commented "Cecchino makes fun of Benvenuto, Liberata gives Cecchino a good tanning…"

"And as it seems a certain Falcone raps on everyone's fingers. _Touché_, boy." Liberata grinned

"You should see our older sister. I'll just tell you she took the veil in the end" Cecchino resolved with a mischievous grin

"Stop talking nonsense!" Zio Niccolò intervened jumping to his feet, even if he sat down almost immediately "Liberata, if you _have_ a plan, make us know it"

"The Piagnoni are there, have the means and have the odds" Liberata explained listing the sentences on her fingers "What they lack is resolve. Maybe they are afraid, maybe they're planning to temporize, but they'll rise sooner or later. If we offer them a chance, always without making them know it's us, we might succeed in making them get rid of Alessandro and Ippolito within the month"

"What they really fear are Alessandro's German body guards" Cecchino explained "The so gushed over ruler is nothing but a kid… hardly four years older than Marcello here!"

Near Marcello, Alessio opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water.

"We have to kill some Germans, then… very well!" Liberata resolved "Are you mad or what? For people to stop fearing them, we'd have to slaughter them in public!"

"What, German guards…?" Marcello burst out jumping to his feet "Vanni and I fought the Germans and this bloke…"

"Talking about Giovanni…" Cecchino said raising an eyebrow "Where's Borgia?"

"He left the town at sunrise" Francesco intervened entering the room "He left a note on the main door… he could not choose a worse moment to do a flit"

"Maybe he didn't want to take Cosimo on" Alessio commented "You know, his old man being his best friend and all…"

"I would have never trusted him with Cosimo. When an Assassin has a child and knows his time has come, he appoints another Brother on paper to take the child as an Apprentice" Francesco explained "And Giovanni wrote Pietro del Buta"

"Pietro _who_?"

"Pietro Aretino… remember? The man who was with me in Mantova. Del Buta is his real family name" Marcello explained

"You mean my father had asked you to mind me?" Flavia asked Francesco

"Exactly" Francesco answered "We all thought it would have been Enrico for Marcello… also because Enrico got a letter, that November. We only found out later that in that letter, your father had written "stand aside". Enrico was really hurt by that, but we thought it was only because of your father's death. But now we have plans to make, let's get a move on"

As Francesco took a seat at the table around which they had been discussing and took some of the paperwork, Marcello couldn't help asking himself what reason had pushed Papà to write "stand aside" to Enrico as last message.

Enrico had always been very close to him… to them. He had been the cousin Marcello had seen more often.

It had been really just a case that Vanni had left the camp in Pavia and reported to the Headquarters _the very day in which they had arrived in Roma?_

He wished he could have remembered what had happened the first time he and Vanni had met. If Papà had really asked _him_ to train him as an Apprentice, he might actually have thought that what _had happened_ would have happened.

_You didn't think about the cannons, Papà._

_You didn't think about the traitor._

_You didn't think it might have lasted hardly two years._

"Marcello?"

A hand touched his shoulder.

"Liberata?" Marcello identified the voice

"Anything wrong?"

Marcello shook his head.

"So, if I got it right" Francesco began putting down the papers "These German guards are an authentic scarecrow for the Florentines. If they were rubbed out, it would mean uprising"

"That's right" Cecchino nodded "Such a shame _someone_ would beg to differ" he added, giving Liberata a dirty look

"Your sister is absolutely right" Francesco replied

"Whaaat!?" Cecchino burst out with a ridiculous grimace

"A direct attack would push us directly in the enemy's jaws. Hide in plain sight, we never must forget it" Francesco explained "Even a subtle strategy might expose us, if it was aimed to kill. We can't touch those guards with a single finger"

"How the fuck can we convince those _cagasotto_ to rise, then?"

"People put up with them because nothing has happened by now" Francesco said standing up and walking around the table "We are in Firenze with a tyrant brat, not in Roma under the Borgia. His grip is weak, we just need those guards to slip away from it, and the Piagnoni would win this match. We would just need to provoke the guards, make them do something… _they should not_"

* * *

><p><em><strong>Longa manus (LATIN) = literally, "long hand". It's a term we use to indicate a person who acts on behalf of another. Just like… the Pazzi were Rodrigo's longa manus in Firenze. Usually it has a negative denotation.<strong>_

_**Topastro = rat. Yeah, he's still talking about Cosimo.**_

_**Ragazzi = kids**_

_**Fetente = stinker. Yeah, like Giovanni, like Cosimo.**_

_**Ttremone (Apulian dialect) = idiot, stupid, asshole**_

_**No, lui no = no, not him**_

_**Piazza San Lorenzo = St. Lawrence's Square, literally translated. (AN: today, in this square, there is a statue of Giovanni de'Medici)**_

_**Oh, cielo! = heavens above!**_

_**Sorellina = little sister**_

_**In gamba (told about a person) = a smart guy, no fool, a crackerjack. I've left the Italian because "gamba" means leg – yeah, Cecchino is making lame leg jokes. And that's why Liberata tells him to shut up.**_

_**Villa del Trebbio = that's the villa where Maria and Cosimo lived.**_

_**Veterano = veteran, rank 8 of the Assassins Order. I should have written "veterana" as Liberata is a girl, but I preferred keeping it neutral.**_

_**Ragazzi = kids**_

_**Pussa via = scat, go away. "Puzza" means stink, and yeah, Cosimo mispronounced it.**_

_**Idiota = idiot**_

_**Già = yeah**_

_**Stronzate = crap. As it's a plural name in Italian, I kept the "those".**_

_**Piagnoni = weepers, Savonarola supporters**_

_**Secta Luporum = I think you all remember the dear Followers of Romulus...**_

**_Palleschi = Medici supporters – the name comes from the Medici coat of arms. Alessio makes a pun on "palle"… _balls_._**

_**Scemo = stupid**_

_**Cagasotto = shittipants**_


	15. Afraid to forget

_**So, this is Chapter 14. Anyway, I've corrected huge mistakes in Chapters 6 and 10, so you'd better go and see what's changed straightaway - it's in Des and Shaun's speeches.**_  
><em><strong>If you're commenting next Saturday, I'm afraid I won't be answering so soon - I'll be in Florence paying your regards to Vanni!<strong>_

* * *

><p><em>May 11, 1527, Mantova<em>

_Francesco,_

_I do know you may be mad at me and I do know I have no justification for this._

_Or maybe I have. I DID NOT WANT TO STAY IN THAT VILLA. I mean, do you realize it, Francesco? I had never been AT HIS PLACE. Never before now. I had not even met his wife, his son, and his apprentice if not through his letters._

_Marcello is REALLY the marvel he wrote about, anyway. Tell him._

_I am on the road to Basel again, probably I'll go back to Paris, even if I'm no longer sure of many things I wanted to do._

* * *

><p>Chapter 14<p>

Afraid to Forget

Saint Francis's Church in Mantova was the typical building of some centuries before: thick and blank walls, cramped windows, columns of bare bricks, and the ceiling covered in trusses.

Giovanni had practically grown up into churches, and, compared to the opulence of his childhood environments, he almost liked that place.

"I never thought you could actually hang out in such a place" Maria Amiel, the Swiss alchemist who had been traveling with him for several weeks, had just entered the aisle.

"It was all I did when I was a kid" Giovanni answered with a smirk "My grandfather was always better than Micheletto Corella, after all"

"You mean we have stopped here just to visit a church?" Maria asked giving him a dirty look "We still haven't found that piece of book you were talking about, Professor Von Hohenheim is waiting for us for sure, we came here… I mean, you left me in Bologna for days! Was there… I don't know… some friend of yours, hiding in the crypt with a secret message?"

"There actually was a friend of mine in the crypt" Giovanni said pushing the door to get out "But he had no secret message, he's been here since St. Andrew's Day… and it's likely he'll stay here 'til Judgment Day"

Maria's face quickly turned from annoyance to sympathy.

"I'm sorry"

"Some days ago, in Firenze, I met his family. I had never seen them before. He had a wife, and a small boy, even an apprentice. I could not look at their faces, Maria, I did not even introduce myself to the kid… he looks just like him, blast it, he was even wearing his old nightshirt!"

Outside the church, spring was giving the way to summer. Both Giovanni and Maria had to squint to avoid being blinded by the midday sun.

"How did it happen?" Maria asked

"He fell ill after he took a cannon ball to the knee, as far as I've heard. They had done everything to save him, but it was not enough"

He took a hand to his eyes.

"I wish I could have died in his place. He had a family, he had people counting on him. I am… I just am the bastard son of an illegitimate daughter!"

"Don't say this!"

"Well, what else could I say? In Firenze there are an orphan, a widow and a boy without a master. The Bande Nere are still resisting, but for how long? If I had gone, the only thing they would have had to worry about would have been in which pit they would have had to throw my rubbish!"

Maria smiled and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Is this what you think? Professor Von Hohenheim would suffer for it. And your friend, too. And where would I be now?"

She stayed silent and sighed.

"Giovanni, what would have your friend done? Do you think he would have shipped the oars and given up everything? _You_ don't give up"

"Who are you talking about?"

A bystander had been looking at them for a while. He was wearing a surgeon barber's signature clothes, and the bag he had on his shoulder left very few room for other hypothesis, but he seemed quite young to be a master surgeon.

Giovanni immediately squinted and eyed up and down the stranger: a grayish-blue aura informed him of the man's good intentions.

"We can trust him, I think" he whispered to Maria, then he stepped forward.

"I heard you talking about the Bande Nere" the young surgeon said getting close to them "Samuele Valdaro, surgeon"

"Giovanni Borgia… alchemist"

"Were you a friend of Capitano De'Medici?"

"We played together when we were kids"

"I am really sorry for your loss" Samuele said "I've known him… for how few times I may have seen him, he was likely one of the strongest people I've ever known… he already had a fever when he volunteered to hold still his apprentice as I stitched a gash on his forehead"

"Marcello, was that him? I've met that boy some days ago"

"Right, Marcello Auditore. How is he?"

"He is… fine" Giovanni cut short

"I heard he had lost his father two years before it happened. Poor boy, a loss after another" Samuele resolved "If you see him again, can you bring him my greetings?"

"I will, even if I doubt I'll see him soon. I'm heading North" Giovanni said pointing at two horses bound near a wall.

"Well… have a safe journey, then"

"Thank you. Have a good day!"

* * *

><p><em>If I'll ever come back to Italia, or you'll want to visit me, I have something that Alessio might like in my house in Paris.<em>

_And to think that it seemed just yesterday I saw him as a little one making mischief… what I'd give to go back to those times, Francesco, what I'd give._

_Giovanni Borgia_

* * *

><p><em>May 14, 1527, San Piero a Sieve<em>

"And this is from Giovanni" Francesco resolved putting the letter in the box where he had been putting the ones he had already read with an almost annoyed gesture.

"What does he write?" Flavia asked as she examined the coded message sent by Cecchino

"He's in Mantova. Or he was three days ago, at least" Francesco said taking a hand to his eyes "Christ, how couldn't I notice how shattered he was?"

He picked up another letter.

"He wants to go back to Paris… and the soonest possible too, I think. And I'm also afraid he might do another idiot thing, like shipping for the New World again… that's what he did when his mother died"

He broke the seal on the envelope and opened the letter.

"It's Benvenuto" he told Flavia "Bad news from Roma. Ricoveri died in the siege"

"What… what now?" was the only thing Flavia was able to say

"Paolo Simoni has been elected as new Master of the city. Orazio made quite the mess, he kept voting for Benvenuto… now, I won't say that boy wouldn't be able, but he isn't even twenty-seven. What kind of Master could he be? Paolo is almost forty, he made his mistakes in the past, but he's the right person"

"What mistakes?" Flavia asked picking up another letter and breaking the seal

"He broke the first tenet of the Creed as he and your father were chasing a deacon in Constantinople" Francesco explained putting away the letter and the envelope "He never forgave himself. He was appointed Master of a district, but as soon as your father left the Ottoman Empire, he left it, too. Usually he's the one who accepts the least desirable missions. Your aunt must have thought he had punished himself enough. What does Cecchino say?"

"They'll strike in two days" Flavia explained "He said he has found a group of boys brave enough to hit the German guards with a ball… and, as far as he says, known enough in the city to make sure their families react to a possible attack"

"I hope the news from Pietro are in this stack" Francesco commented looking at the pile of letters still closed on the table "He must take Cosimo before the uprising starts. Some extremist groups of Piagnoni might start a manhunt anyway, and despite I know for sure they would not harm Maria, they'd see Cosimo as a potential danger"

"He's seven years old"

"He's a boy and a Medici. They wouldn't see who he is, but what he may become. In just ten years he might lead an army, become an Archbishop, or even lay claim to the _Signoria_!"

"I'd see him more as a _calcio_ champion" Flavia resolved extracting the letter "Oh, look, Francesco, _parli del diavolo!_"

Francesco's face lightened up.

"Pietro?"

"Sì, Pietro" Flavia said passing him the letter "In four days, at the _Palazzo del Pretorio_, in Lecco"

"Very well" Francesco said taking the sheet and grinning "Call your brother, Alessio and Cosimo. We're leaving tomorrow morning"

* * *

><p><em>We were on the road again. Alessio was the first to start packing, he was more than happy to do something concrete at last – and to dump Cosimo on someone else, as Marcello pointed out behind his back.<em>

_Mamma wasn't too happy about our departure… I could understand her, with what had already happened to us, she would have never wanted us to get in trouble again. And Marcello ended up as the messenger bringing bad news._

* * *

><p>"It won't be dangerous. We're not going to Roma. Francesco will be with us, and there will also be Pietro waiting!" Marcello was saying.<p>

Despite his tone of voice was meant to show certainty, his hands, which were continuously going down to the rim of his new tunic, gave away a slight tension.

"We should have been safe here, too" Mamma said in a harsh tone

"Well, we had a mole in here. On the road to Lecco it will be just the four of us and Cosimo" Marcello explained "Francesco said it's got to be us because Cosimo trusts us"

He stayed silent for a moment.

"Even if I did not want to go, I couldn't even refuse" he said with a grin "I'm an Assistente and Francesco is the Mentore, and I have to obey to my superiors"

Mamma grinned and hugged him.

"You'll _never_ convince me of how much you've grown up"

Marcello hugged her in return, then chuckled.

"But if just the other day you were complaining about my old clothes being too small!"

Mamma put her hands on his shoulders and looked him in his eyes.

"No matter who you are or who you might become one day. For me, you'll always be my baby"

* * *

><p><em>The journey was unusually peaceful, apart from the usual bickers between Alessio and Cosimo.<em>

_You could say anything about that boy, but not that he had not been used to make do – at his age, Marcello would have thrown a tantrum, he admitted it himself._

_The day set by Pietro for the rendezvous, we were in Lecco, in front of the building that had been indicated to us. But Pietro wasn't there._

_In his place, there were a boy and a girl, both fair-haired, who seemed to be definitely scanning the streets and waiting for someone._

_Cosimo was the first to stop, visibly suspicious. But for Marcello and Alessio a look was enough to deny any possible doubt._

* * *

><p><em>May 20, 1527, Lecco<em>

"What are you afraid of, Mi'? That's Arturo over there!" Alessio smirked "I thought you knew him"

"No I don't" Cosimo said with a shrug "Who is he?"

"Arturo Spada, nice to meet you" Arturo commenced holding out a hand to Cosimo "By the way, _ragazzi_, may I introduce you my sister Laura? Laura, these are Flavia and Marcello Auditore, Cosimo de'Medici…"

"Francesco Vecellio and Alessio Falcone" Francesco resolved patting Alessio's back

"I thought we were supposed to meet Pietro Aretino" Alessio said giving Arturo a dirty look

"Problem, _moccioso_?" Arturo replied "I know the place much better than him for sure. And… what did you do with your hair? You look like a girl" he then added, pointing at Alessio's hair, which had arrived past his ears in the last months.

"That's none of your business!" Alessio replied "Shut your beak!"

Normally, at that point Marcello would have intervened, or at least he would have had a laugh at Alessio's expense, but he felt definitely observed. He needed just a moment to realize it was Arturo's sister who was staring at him.

"You are… you were… the Papal Army kid" Laura asked him "When you were camping out by the lake… weren't you the one who climbed belltowers?"

"Er…" Marcello grinned and shrugged

"How old are you?"

"Thirteen… almost"

"I turned twelve in January… well, my sister and I did, I mean" Laura said "Did you do something else in these months? I mean, now you no longer follow the Bande Nere"

"Uhm… nothing special" Marcello lied, not knowing if Laura knew or not in what mess her brother had stuck in.

"I think it's the case to talk away from the streets. Pietro is waiting at my place" Arturo intervened gesturing with a hand "Laura, come on. We're going home"

* * *

><p><em>May 20, 1527, Pescarenico, near Lecco<em>

Villa Spada was a small building at the border of the town, in the middle of a patch of earth full of grapevines.

Despite it was visibly smaller, it immediately reminded home to Flavia. There were two horses bound near a manger, a very small boy scampering about the lawn in front of the house, and a man slightly younger than Francesco pruning the vines, while a woman and a girl who looked exactly like Laura were sitting on a bench and spinning some wool.

Leaning against one of the walls of the house, with his eyes fastened on the road, there was Pietro del Buta, the Assassin who would have taken care of Cosimo from that day on.

"Marcello!" Pietro exclaimed leaving the wall and walking towards them "Is that really you? Man, you got big!"

"_Andiamo_, Pietro, it's not even been six months!" Marcello chuckled as Pietro patted him on the shoulder and hugged him "By the way, why didn't you tell me it would have been here? You could have written Lecco was near Pescarenico!"

"Let's just say Lecco will _swallow up_ Pescarenico sooner or later, in my opinion" the man working in the vineyard intervened approaching them "You must be Marcello. The public scrivener of the Bande in all but name!"

"Was I really known like that?" Marcello asked raising his shoulders "If I was, it's me"

"Tommaso Spada. Nice to meet you" the man said shaking his hand "You already know Arturo, no? Those over there are my wife Anselma and my daughter Lavinia, you've already met Laura…"

He seized by the tunic the small boy, who was approaching Cosimo with a not-too-innocent look and a wiggling lizard in his hand.

"And that's little pest Oreste!" Laura resolved crossing her arms "Oreste, do it again and I'll choke you"

"Tsk. Brat" Cosimo snorted "Did you really think you could slip that thing under my clothes? I did that to my Nonno before you were alive!"

Oreste, who looked about four or five years old, tried to struggle out of his father's grasp and stuck out his tongue at Cosimo.

"It seems you've found your match, Mi'" Alessio commented with a sneer

"_Don't laugh_" Cosimo snarled "Don't laugh or I'll be choking you!"

* * *

><p><em>Oreste REALLY was Cosimo's match. Or he would have been, if Cosimo hadn't been used to continuously watch his back. Of course, Alessio, too, had been used to watch his back, but Cosimo had always taken him unaware in this or that way.<em>

_Oreste spent a whole afternoon trying to pull a prank on Cosimo, and Cosimo actually spent the afternoon busting him._

_At a point, Alessio had even suggested Oreste to prank Cosimo in his sleep, but his "sweet revenge" plan failed miserably when Oreste conked out on his polenta._

_Anselma took him in the master bedroom – for that night, Oreste would have slept in the double bed with his parents – and told us we would have had to sleep in the boys' room and make do with just two beds._

_We kids immediately agreed for Pietro and Francesco to have the beds – most of us, even Cosimo, did not mind sleeping on blankets – but Francesco tried to let me have one of the beds. I refused. I couldn't sleep in a bed and leave Marcello and Cosimo on the floor. Cosimo was still a small boy. As for Marcello, though he had grown taller than me, he still was my little brother._

* * *

><p><em>May 21, 1527, Pescarenico<em>

Marcello opened his eyes and sat up. The room was completely dark, but from the smells and the noises he had around, he immediately understood that what had seemed so real to him until a moment ago had been nothing but a nightmare.

He was in the countryside near the Lake of Como, not in Mantova. It was almost summer, not almost winter.

Yet it was the first time since then he was sleeping on a blanket on the floor.

What had awaken him?

He had his answer when he heard sobbing from one of the corners of the room. Cosimo was crying.

He could not see a thing in the dark, and to avoid hitting someone else, he focused on Eagle Vision and examined the room. Near him, Flavia and Alessio were sleeping soundly, and Francesco and Pietro still occupied the two beds in the room. He asked himself where Arturo was, but then he recalled that his spot on the floor was in his sisters' room.

Cosimo was curled up on his blanket, his face hidden behind his knees, and was shaken by sobs.

"Cosimo, _va tutto bene_" Marcello said sitting next to him and putting an arm around his shoulders "It's all right. I'm here. Are you afraid of the dark? Do I have to find a candle?"

"_Ho paura_"

"Stay here, I'll come back with a candle"

Cosimo grabbed his wrist and laid his head on his shoulder.

"Don't go. I'm not afraid of the dark"

"_Va bene_, I'm staying. But you tell me what's wrong"

Cosimo let go and straightened his back.

"Never mind, it's rubbish" he said drying up his tears with a sleeve

"If you call rubbish a nightmare, well, I've just had a rubbish tonight, and I'm five years older than you" Marcello grinned giving him a pat on the back.

"No, it's not that" Cosimo replied "I'm afraid… I'm afraid to forget. I'm afraid I'll no longer remember Babbo's face"

Marcello took Cosimo's hand and stood up, making him stand up in turn.

"Come on, let's go out, before we wake up everyone"

He led Cosimo into the dining room, making him stop only to find a candle and a tinderbox, and got back to him with the candlelight.

"Why do you think you'll forget him?" he asked Cosimo taking a seat

"He did not remember Nonno" Cosimo mumbled sitting down in turn "Why, do you remember your father?"

"Me? Well… sì, everything but the voice. Even if Flavia says mine is almost identical" Marcello answered "Your father, too, told me it. He had already guessed it when I was ten"

"But your father wasn't always at war, no? He stayed at home" Cosimo replied "I can quite believe you still remember him"

"When I was born, my father was fifty-five"

"Ah!" Cosimo grimaced "_Fifty-five_! Nonna Caterina didn't even reach that age!"

He leaned on the table, with his head on his arms.

"But things don't change. I'll forget Babbo. It will happen with time" he moaned

Marcello didn't know what to do to help Cosimo. Those were the moments in which he wished for a way to make a drawing in a heartbeat, maybe even something anyone could do, because how could he find a painter or a whatsoever artist who could make off the top of his head a portrait of Giovanni? And overall, it had to be someone who had already met him…

_Off the top of his head? Marcello, are you going off YOUR head?_, something inside him told himself.

He had had the answer for all the time and he had not even thought about it!

"Maybe I know how I can help you"

* * *

><p><em>Marcello doubtlessly knew how he could get a help, but he also knew it would have been hard.<em>

_There was an artist who could have made a portrait, or better, a sketch, of Giovanni de'Medici, even that very day, there was only the tiny detail that the artist at issue, despite being as good as Marcello's best friend, could not stand Cosimo at all._

* * *

><p>"<em>Andiamo<em>, Alessio, don't be such a big baby. I've only asked you a favor" Marcello asked in a pleading tone

"I'm not being a big baby. Not me" Alessio snorted crossing his arms "The big baby at issue has stuck a feather up my nose, lowered my pants on the way to Ferrara, joined forces with Domenico against me, hidden my boots, poured honey on my winter cloak, and inside, I mean, and slipped snow in my clothes. Does it seem enough to refuse?"

Flavia looked out of the window, where Cosimo was busy talking to Pietro. She did not dare intervene in the discussion between Alessio and Marcello, because, even knowing Alessio was dead wrong, she did not want to take sides: if an out-and-out argument had started, she didn't want no one of the two to take it out on her.

"Cosimo may be quite a rascal…"

"Quite… quite a rascal, he says"

"… but he's not mean! He's just a boy on his own. I went through it, too, Alessio, I know what it means, but for him it was worse. Maybe you forgot I used to insult you?"

"It's not the same thing"

Flavia was getting nowhere. She knew they were talking about Cosimo, but she didn't know why. What had that kid done now?

"Now, boys, could you explain me what happened?" she asked

Both Marcello and Alessio, who were visibly on the point of raising their voices, fell silent.

"It's about Cosimo" Marcello was the first to answer "He's afraid he'll forget his father's face…"

"And obviously Marcello asks me to make a portrait of Giovanni" Alessio snorted "He might have asked Francesco!"

"Ask the Mentore? Alessio, _andiamo_, he has already enough nuts to crack!"

Alessio rolled his eyes and snorted loudly.

"I won't help the _topastro_" he resolved

"Your father did help Vanni, though, as Borgia said" Marcello replied after a moment of silence "And it was mutual"

"And look at what happened after" Alessio said looking at the ground

"Well, maybe your father would be still alive if he had listened to Vanni"

Flavia caught Alessio's movement with her eyes, but she couldn't say or do anything before Alessio's fist hit Marcello's face.

Without saying another word, Alessio went out of the room and ran outside, leaving Marcello rubbing a cheekbone and cursing.

"You shouldn't have done it, you know?" Flavia told him moving his hand aside to examine the injured spot.

"Have you heard him at least?" Marcello burst out pushing her hand away "He should know what it means, not having a memory of his father, and instead of helping Cosimo he gives me a punch!"

"You shouldn't have said that anyway"

"Maybe it's even true"

"And didn't you think about how much this could have bothered him? Don't tell me you thought he would have begged for your forgiveness and done what you had asked him straightaway!"

"Well, no, but…"

"Go look for him and apologize"

"_È una parola_! You forget that if Alessio does not want to be found, no one can find him!"

"_If_ he does not want to be found"

* * *

><p><em>As it seemed, Marcello was sick and tired of arguing, because he went out without a reply and he started searching.<em>

_Alessio, to be honest, had not gone too far: he had simply hidden in the haystack just outside the villa. Marcello would have found him immediately… if he only had really looked for him._

* * *

><p>One of the twins had gotten close to Marcello and had started following him as the boy looked around.<p>

Alessio knew he would have found him sooner or later. He _wanted_ to be found, and maybe even to get another punch on the nose. He deserved it.

How could he have lost his temper that way? How could he have hit Marcello?

He wouldn't have been surprised at all if Marcello had given him a nosebleed again. Or if Flavia had snubbed him like Beatrice had done with Dante Alighieri.

"Did something happen?" the girl asked Marcello

"Oh, _ciao_, Laura" Marcello said hinting at a grin and grimacing just after.

"_Something did happen_" Laura confirmed getting close to Marcello and examining his face. Marcello's cheeks immediately filled up with a red that had nothing to do with the punch received moments before.

"Don't mind it, it's nothing" he stuttered stepping backwards "My sister already checked it, there's nothing broken"

"Your friend punched you, didn't he? There may be nothing broken, but judging by your face, he cracked down on you"

"I didn't go too easy on him either" Marcello replied looking at his feet "I shouldn't have told him his father died because he hadn't listened to Van… to Cosimo's father"

"Was that the truth or did you lie to him?" Laura asked sitting on the bench in front of the door

"I don't know. As far as Borgia told us, it's very likely it happened" Marcello said sitting down in turn "In my opinion that's what happened. Very likely he got some enemies. Sooner or later, all the spies get caught. Ahmad was caught, Vanni was caught, very probably Filippo met their same fate"

"Spies?" Laura burst out "Marcello Auditore, please, tell me you know something about the mess in which my brother has stuck in!"

"You really think I know a bloke called Ahmad? He was a character of a book Pietro gave me!"

"And what has Capitano de'Medici got to do with this?"

_Blast it, Marcello_, Alessio thought clenching his fists, _just because she's a pretty girl you can't let her subject you to the third degree!_

"He spied the Spaniards for the Christian King" Marcello quickly lied

"Such a likely tale!" Laura gave him a dirty look "Since when he got wounded, Arturo has left the army, and I may understand this, but he writes less, he lies, and don't think I've noticed he has started wearing a hood on his clothes… which I've also noticed on Pietro, that Francesco guy, you, your sister and your friend. You know something, don't you?"

"Now it's a crime, having a hood?"

"No, but I've heard of secret societies from my grandfather, a lot of time ago. When he was young, he saw conspirators being slaughtered in Milano… and their killer was a hooded man"

Marcello gave a start, but he immediately raised his scarred eyebrow and sneered.

"You don't think it was _my_ grandfather, I hope"

"I'd have some suspect, judging by your jump"

"Listen, you have to talk to your brother. All right, I know what he's doing, and it's nothing wrong, but I don't think he feels ready to tell you. Maybe, I don't know, he thinks your father won't accept it or who knows"

"Your father never had anything to say about you?" Laura asked "And your mother, isn't she worried?"

"Oh, she is indeed. But she was used to it, with Papà, even before she found out what he was doing. As for Papà, he was already gone when I began"

He run a hand in his hair, sighed and looked around.

"By the way, have you seen Alessio? I think I owe him an apology"

* * *

><p><em>Alessio stayed out of sight for the whole day, and he, too, had his apologies ready, even if he did not actually say sorry neither to Cosimo nor to Marcello. He limited himself to clap Marcello on his back and give Cosimo a drawing – probably, the first portrait of Giovanni de'Medici in history, even if, with the wisdom of hindsight, I'm ready to bet it won't be the only one.<em>

_I never knew if Cosimo came to know about the fight or understood Marcello had asked Alessio to make that drawing, but after that event, I never seen him pulling pranks on Alessio, at least not mean pranks like lowering his breeches in front of me._

_We left two days later, not before Arturo made an important announcement to his family and Laura squeezed poor Marcello, forcing out of him the promise he would have written every now and then._

* * *

><p><em>May 23, 1527, Pescarenico<em>

"Are you coming to Venezia with us?" Cosimo asked Marcello as soon as Laura come off him

"We don't know" Flavia intervened "Francesco, are we going with them or coming back home?"

"Neither of the two" Francesco answered saddling his horse "Desiderius Erasmus reported suspicious movements between Switzerland and France, right in places Giovanni Borgia has recently crossed. And the last news he had from him were that he wanted to break in Nicolas Flamel's tomb"

"That's so gross!" Cosimo burst out with a grimace "He wants to be a gravedigger now?"

"Well, my parents did enter the tomb of Altair" Marcello replied

"Not really" Flavia corrected him "Papà did enter, Mamma stayed outside"

"I know, but Altair's tomb is like going to St. Peter in Roma or to St. James in Compostella… or… to… the Holy Sepulchre… in Jerusalem!" Cosimo commented "Altair ruled, who knows this Flamel guy?"

"Well, until some days ago, you couldn't even _say_ Altair" Alessio resolved shaking his head

"What does it matter? I'm seven!" Cosimo replied

"Almost eight, Recluta de'Medici! Such a behavior isn't acceptable from you!" Arturo burst out all of a sudden in a ridiculous commanding tone "As for you, Recluta Falcone, you should not denigrate a Brother in such a way!"

"I'm no Recluta, Spada, you're talking to an Assistente!" Alessio showed three raised fingers

"I'm older than you anyway"

"If you don't shut your face and move, that arm you got holed in Governolo, I'll tear it off you" Pietro intervened pulling Arturo by a sleeve "Francesco, ragazzi, see you soon. Let me know how things go"

He got on the carriage they had prepared and gestured Arturo and Cosimo to do the same. Arturo followed him unfalteringly, Cosimo instead stayed still for a moment.

"Cosimo, let's go" Pietro told him gesturing to move again

Cosimo grimaced, took a hand to his mouth and started chewing on his nails, but he stopped immediately.

"Do you really have to go?"

Both Flavia and Marcello looked at Francesco, who nodded and murmured "We must go"

"It's no farewell, Mi', we'll meet again" Alessio intervened grinning "We're not going to Roma!"

He stepped forward and tousled his hair.

"Don't make Pietro go crazy, huh?"

Cosimo stepped backwards and looked at the three of them. He had taken a hand to his mouth again.

He straightened his back, lowered his hand, and looked first in Flavia's eyes, then in Marcello's.

"I'll miss you. The three of you"

He ran on the carriage just like what he had just told had been a lie.

Marcello locked eyes again with Francesco, who shrugged and hinted at a grin.

"Do what you have to"

What did he have to do? Francesco did not want for sure Marcello to stay in Venezia… so why was he walking towards the carriage?

"Cosimo?" Marcello asked putting a hand on his shoulder "Will you write?"

Cosimo nodded, even if Flavia was certain she had heard him sobbing.

Marcello hugged Cosimo and tousled his hair with a hand.

"Take care, eaglet" he told him walking back towards his group.

* * *

><p><em>The carriage left. We got on our horses.<em>

_Pietro, Arturo and Cosimo were heading East, we were heading North._

_Suspicious movements, Borgia breaking into a tomb, it all seemed the perfect start for an adventure._

_During the journey, Alessio hypothesized it had to do with ghosts, Marcello said it had to do with undead, I told them it had to do with both to make them laugh._

_But no one of us expected the turn of events that effectively happened._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Signoria = Seigniory<strong>_

_**Calcio = football/ Florentine football**_

_**Parli del diavolo = you speak about the devil (and he's bound to appear)**_

_**Palazzo del Pretorio = Praetorian Palace – don't ask me why it's called like that.**_

_**Mi' = Cosimo – that's how Alessio calls him.**_

_**Ragazzi = guys**_

_**Moccioso = nipper**_

_**Andiamo = come on**_

_**Nonno = grandfather. Obviously, Cosimo is talking about "idiota" Jacopo Salviati.**_

_**Polenta = boiled grain mush, a veery common peasant food in Northern Italy. Today is usually made from corn, but before sixteenth century it was made from cereals and stuff like that.**_

_**Lake of Como = it's actually a lake in Northern Italy. Lecco is on its southern shore.**_

_**Va tutto bene = it's all right**_

_**Ho paura = I'm afraid**_

_**Va bene = OK**_

"_**He did not remember Nonno" = this time, Cosimo is obviously talking about his paternal grandfather, Giovanni de'Medici senior.**_

_**Topastro = rat**_

_**È una parola = literally "it's one word", but it actually means "easier said than done"**_

_**Ciao = hello**_

_**Recluta = recruit, Assassin rank 1. Now tell me again Arturo does not remind you anyone.**_


	16. Playing with Fire

_**Longest chapter of the story so far, readers!**_

_**Now, Andreas Van Wesel really existed, but I would not suggest you to check on his bio, he'll also appear in Part 4 and I don't want you to get spoilers.**_  
><em><strong>As for Guillaume Chaput - he's inspired to a real-life person (you MIGHT actually know him) still living today.<strong>_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

><p>Chapter 15<p>

Playing with Fire

* * *

><p><em>June 24, 1527, Basel Headquarters<em>

_Dear Cosimo,_

_here it's freezing cold despite the summer. And… they all speak German here, I had to try to learn something but I just can't do it, I don't want to, I don't feel like speaking it. After a month, I still prefer using French even just to ask for some bread at the shop down in the street. And at that point, the shopkeeper gives me a funny look._

_You see, I would have preferred a mission to Constantinople, at least I can speak Turkish!_

_We still haven't had any news from Borgia. Francesco says that in his opinion he took the bush to leave behind some chasers, but one of the Brothers here, a Philippus – with – a – name – too – long who goes by the name of Paracelsus (and whom Alessio calls "Professor Bomba" or simply "Er Bomba"), told us he did not leave on his own, and with him there was his assistant Maria._

_Alessio chuckled when Paracelsus told us, when he came to the Villa, Borgia had told Liberata he was taken… well, we quite think we know who has taken him._

_Francesco may be certain Borgia has thrown everyone off his scent on purpose, but I am worried. And I don't like Paracelsus, he's a swellhead, and in my opinion he's even on the edge of losing his head… if he hasn't already lost it. I've heard that in the last days he has insulted some teachers of the University here in Basel, and he accused many doctors of unholy practices._

_Erasmus told Francesco that anyway Par… I mean, the professor, has always been used to play with fire. Let's just hope he doesn't get a burn._

_Say "ciao" to Pietro and Arturo._

_Marcello_

* * *

><p>Flavia looked at Marcello as he signed the letter and put it aside waiting for the ink to dry, then she had a look at it.<p>

"Alessio has a good reason to make fun of him for sure" she commented with a smirk

"Who, Cosimo?" Marcello asked giving her a dirty look

"No, Professor Von Hohenheim. I mean, Philippus, Aureolus, Theophrastus, Bombastus, Paracelsus, and so on and so forth, how the hell must we address him?"

"Professor" Marcello sneered and shrugged "At least we'd be safe with that. Or it would be even better…"

He puffed out his cheeks and he stood up rigid in an impersonation of the scholar, with the arms wide and a pouting look.

"Swellhead!" he spelled out before blowing out the air and taking back his usual posture.

"That's it, that suits him much more" Flavia chuckled.

They were still laughing when Alessio entered the room, with his hair in a mess and his clothes stuck on him for the sweat.

"Er Bomba blew up!"

"What?" Marcello asked

"He must… he must have begun this morning" Alessio explained, short of breath "I was checking the pigeon coops, Francesco had asked me to check for news… I was near the University one and I see him running off with his arms loaded with books and yelling like one possessed!"

"What could have happened?" Flavia asked "One just can't go crazy like this!"

"Oh, he can" Marcello replied instead "It would seem a work of a Piece of Eden, as it seems. Or something like that. We need to warn Francesco and Erasmus"

"I'll go" Alessio said

"No you don't. You know where the professor was, go back there with Flavia and keep your eyes on his back" Marcello said "I'll raise the alarm"

He rushed out of the room, leaving them alone.

"It won't be easy, the streets are packed with people" Alessio explained "As it seems it's a holiday"

"You think I don't know today is St. John the Baptist's Day?" Flavia asked giving him a dirty look "What they do in Firenze is ten times what you see out there!"

"Rooftops?"

"Rooftops"

They raised their hoods, got out from the window and climbed up to the roof of the Headquarters.

Under them, the crowd was flocking together in the streets, surely heading to the main squares or churches.

"I'd say they're going to the Cathedral" Alessio commented

"Do I have to start saying "_ma no, guarda_" like my brother?" Flavia replied "Of course they're going to the Cathedral, if it's a holiday. If Paracelsus wants to do something that could stand out a mile, in my opinion it's likely he'll follow the crowd"

She examined the crowd with Eagle Vision. Paracelsus could be found nowhere, but in exchange, in the middle of the mob, a well-known blue silhouette had appeared.

"Isn't that Borgia?" Alessio asked

"That's his face, and if it's an ally, it can be no one but him" Flavia commented "What shall we do, we split up and one of us follows him?"

"What if he's looking for Er Bomba, too? Remember? The professor's assistant is with him!" Alessio said as he started following Borgia with his eyes

"Don't think, let's go!" Flavia told him grabbing his wrist.

They followed Borgia from above, running on the rooftops, and Flavia thanked more than a time the Baptist for all the people too busy with the celebration to look up.

It was the first time they were actually chasing someone and it was not practice.

Borgia was a friend, that was more than clear, but he surely did not expect to be pursued.

Luckily, almost three years of training were on Flavia's side, and as for Alessio, in her opinion that boy had been running for a lifetime.

They managed to gain ground on Borgia, who was pushing his way through the crowd, jumping from a roof to another and crossing the roads on beams or cables. At a point, Alessio complained, envying Marcello's hookblade, then he hastily mumbled that as soon as everything was done, he would have built a grappling hook.

"Then again, you aren't bad at all with _bare hands_" Flavia commented when they arrived in the square in front of the Cathedral.

"End of the race, I think" Alessio said getting close to the edge of the roof.

"More than end, I'd say finish" Flavia replied "_Look_!"

She pointed at one of the bonfires in the square, where she had caught a glimpse of the Basel scholar's golden silhouette. Despite he wasn't anywhere near them, what he was doing was more than clear.

His arms were still loaded with the books Alessio had seen him taking away, and, one by one, he was throwing them into the fire.

"Mamma would _murder_ him if she just saw this" Flavia spoke out

"Just like Jubair Al-Hakim" Alessio mumbled near her

"You have read _La Crociata Segreta_?"

"I borrowed it from Marcello some days ago, I was bored to death doing nothing" Alessio explained "With all the faded off ink in the last chapters I really did not understand how Malik died… I mean, first they pull him outta jail and then he no longer appears"

"It's not the only copy we have. At home I should have the original hidden somewhere"

"So why is Marcello keeping it?"

"What kind of question is this?"

Under them, Borgia had seized Paracelsus from behind and he was pulling him away. In defiance, the professor had thrown in the flames the last book he had been holding, shouting "_Alterius non sit qui suus esse potest_!"

"He's mad" Alessio commented shaking his head

"Let's go after them!" Flavia said pointing at an alley in which Borgia had just vanished.

They ran on the rooftops to get over the alley, but they never got there: on the nearest roof two were lurking two visibly athletic men, whose clothes did not correspond at all to the ones of the people gathered in the square.

From the way they had their hands on the weapons, their intentions surely were anything but good, but the style of their clothes was somewhat familiar for Flavia.

"Run, Fla', run, _red_!" Alessio shouted activating his hidden blade.

As her only answer, Flavia loaded the hidden bolt and aimed at the head of one of the two assailants. Before the man could approach her, he collapsed on the ground with a bolt in his eye.

In the meantime, Alessio had engaged the other man in a fight, with the hidden blade in his left hand and a dagger in the right one.

Flavia loaded another bolt and got herself ready to shoot, but she could not aim properly. Alessio and his opponent were moving so fast she was afraid to hit the wrong person.

In the bargain, Alessio even seemed in difficulty. He had never been very good in fights that did not involve bare hands, and a cut on his right shoulder was staining his clothes in red.

"Go away! Raise the alert!" Alessio shouted at her.

Flavia didn't want to leave him alone. Maybe, in the time it would have took her to go back to Headquarters, convince an Assassin or two to follow her – if there actually was someone who understood Italian apart from Marcello and Francesco – and then go back there, Alessio would have been captured, or worse, killed.

She didn't want anything to happen to him… he had been her first friend after Marcello… she could not imagine a life without him just as much as she could not imagine a life without her family.

If Alessio had to survive the attack, she _had_ to kill his attacker.

The attacker took the advantage of Alessio's distraction to hold his arms behind his back and seize him by the neck. Flavia did not understand what the man had said, but the dagger on Alessio's throat left few room for doubt.

"Scratch him and you're dead" Flavia told the stranger pointing her weapon at him.

Clearly, the stranger didn't understand what she was saying either, but his face had turned pale.

_This is _so_ funny_, a thought came to her mind, _the maid saving her knight in armor… what am I thinking?_

Suddenly, the man from pale turned to grayish, his grip on Alessio ebbed away, then he collapsed, visibly dead. He had needles protruding from his nape.

"_I told ya to go away_!" Alessio burst out to Flavia throwing the corpse on the ground and getting his wind back.

"Are you all right?" Flavia asked him examining the wound on his shoulder. It was just a gash, but it had to be stitched immediately.

"That's just a scratch" Alessio panted "How are _you_? And overall… _who_ saved us?"

A black shape jumped from a nearby roof. The clothes were similar to the assailants', but the head was covered by a hood. And this explained why the clothes had looked so familiar for Flavia… _she had already seen them_.

"What did you use to hit him?" the stranger said. It was a she. And she wasn't a stranger at all.

"What's wrong, Fla'? Have you just seen a ghost?" Alessio said taking a hand to his wound.

Flavia raised her arm to show the crossbow and remove the bolt, then she lowered her hood.

"Alessio… meet Shao Jun. Jun, this is Alessio Falcone"

* * *

><p><em>I really could not believe my eyes, but I knew a roof just above a square wasn't the best place to see old friends.<em>

_Had I been alone, probably Alessio would have taken the chance to slink off, as he still wanted to chase Borgia and see where he was going, but if he actually could take the liberty to run off with me, he could not do the same with a twenty-two-year-old who had just saved him from some wild man._

_We forced him to see the surgeon near the Headquarters and then we joined Francesco, ready to report._

* * *

><p>"So this is your…" Jun asked looking around<p>

"Headquarters, sì" Flavia resolved "We have been here for almost a month. The three of us, and the new Mentore, Francesco"

"Three?" Jun asked puzzled

"Oh, I forgot…" Flavia grinned "There's Marcello, too, with us. But don't be surprised if you do not recognize him" she added as Alessio knocked at the door, opened it, marched through the room and started reporting.

"Borgia is back. And Er Bomba is burning books" he announced "And, as it seems, we have intruders in the city"

Behind the makeshift desk he was sitting at, Francesco jumped to his feet. Erasmo looked up from his paperwork. Marcello, standing in front of them, turned on the spot.

"Jun?" was the only word he could say, the usual scarred eyebrow raised a bit too much to seem normal.

"Alessio, are you alright?" Francesco asked as he set his eyes on the boy's blood-stained sleeve.

Alessio rolled his eyes.

"I am, Francè. And tell Benvenuto I'm not risking my right hand, if he'll ever say something"

"What happened?" Erasmus resolved

"We were chasing Professor Von Hohenheim to try to understand what had happened" Flavia explained "Just the time to see Borgia taking him aside and pushing him into an alley, and we are attacked by two strangers. I got rid of the first from a distance, but Alessio engaged the second in a fight and he almost got the worst of it. If Jun had not intervened, I don't know how would have this ended"

"We thought you had gone back home by now" Marcello intervened addressing Jun

"I had" Jun explained "But… the emperor's soldiers travelled until here. I think they have a deal with someone, in these countries. Some of my team heard them talking about a book and a stone"

"The Philosopher's Stone!" Francesco burst out

"The what!?" Marcello and Alessio burst out, visibly puzzled.

"Seven years ago, Giovanni and Paracelsus managed to create a Philosopher's Stone using an old book which, as it seems, once belonged to Nicolas Flamel" Erasmus explained standing up and walking towards the center of the room "The Stone and the Book are under lock and key in Paracelsus's study, but as it seems…"

"As it seems?" Jun asked, visibly interested by the news.

"We have in the hands of the Brotherhood just _a half_ of the book. In February, Giovanni had left for Paris to find the missing half, but the only similar thing that had been found was a copy, and nothing short of the original will work"

"At that point, I called him back to Italia to track down a mole, and I also hoped for another assignment" Francesco continued "But as it seems, he wanted to go back on the Flamel trail"

"By the way" Marcello said crossing his arms "Why did he want to break into his tomb? What did he find? Has he sent any messages?"

"He has not found _anything_" Erasmus said raising what seemed a letter "Not even Madame Flamel's corpse. Now, there are rumors in Paris. Rumors saying that Nicolas Flamel is still alive, that he has created with the Stone an elixir to make himself immortal"

"These are children's tales!" Alessio protested "Don't expect me to believe them!"

"Altair, too, believed the Piece of Eden was just a piece of silver" Marcello replied "And he had to change his mind"

"Jun, what were the soldiers who attacked Flavia and Alessio looking for?" Francesco asked "What are they expecting to find?"

"A mar-quees… Charles, something like that… I think I said it right… he's helping them to find the book for the Emperor" Jun said "And there's a man with him. Young. He… doesn't walk well"

She touched her right knee.

"Lame man?" Alessio burst out "Couldn't he be that Giambattista _cojone_?"

Flavia was expecting Francesco to say something, but the Mentore had stayed quiet.

He was visibly clouded and he had his gaze stuck on his boots.

"La Motte" he grumbled between his teeth "Charles de la Motte"

"Do you know him?" Flavia asked Francesco

"I already had to face him" Francesco explained "That man is the reason why I lost my team when I was young. Despite we were fighting on our own ground, he forced us to break cover, trapped us and wiped us out"

"So now Giambattista has gone to complain to him" Marcello commented

"If he hasn't been bribed by him from the very beginning" Alessio piled on it "Francesco, in my opinion he doesn't even know we're here! Give him a taste of his own medicine!"

The room fell into silence.

"His… own… medicine?" Jun stuttered, confused.

"They're looking for Flamel, no? Or his fucking philosophical stone or whatever…" Alessio explained

"_Philosopher's_ Stone" Marcello corrected him "Wait, maybe I got it. Do you want to wait for him to get it and attack?"

"That's right, Marcè. If we make sure the prick shows himself, Francesco here can nail him for good" Alessio sneered "We find the whatever-stone, we surround it with Assassins and we wait _che a'pantegana venga a magnarse er cacio_"

"For the rat to come and eat the cheese" Marcello repeated so Jun and Erasmus could understand "But we should find it before them and without making them understand we're looking for it. We would need an entire Guild to do it without raising a dust. Erasmus, is there an Assassins' Guild in Paris?"

Erasmus shook his head in denial.

"And where we find enough people for such a quest?"

"I haven't said there aren't any Assassins" Erasmus said with a smirk "There is a guild, just, it's not known by that name. The Parisians know about the guild, but they keep a proper distance from it. They know something about it, but more than half of what they know is all gossip and legends. The Guilds do exist… just, they're known as _Cours des Miracles_"

He sighed.

"Find Borgia and let's try to understand how much of this legend is effectively true. A stone that gives immortality is an enormous danger in the wrong hands. If Flamel is even alive, I don't think we should allow him to live longer"

Next to Flavia, Alessio gulped and cleared his throat.

"Messer Erasmus, Flamel is an innocent. Wouldn't it be a violation of the first tenet?"

"He may be an innocent, Assistant Falcone, but he's an innocent who has cheated death. He has lived far beyond his time. Even if his intentions were not evil, he has abused of something he should not have even brushed. He has played with fire. And as long as he is alive, his knowledge is too, and he'll be an easy target for Templars"

* * *

><p><em>June 25, 1527, Basel, Paracelsus's laboratory<em>

The room that until two days before had been almost impeccable now to Flavia looked like her house after the soldiers' attack.

And probably, it had been other soldiers to reduce it to that state.

"Either Paracelsus wrecked this room" Francesco told her "Or someone came here looking for something"

"The men Jun was after?" Flavia whispered

Francesco nodded, then he gave a start when from the nearby room came a sound of steps.

"Flavia, in here" he whispered to her pointing at a closet and hiding in there in turn.

Just after Francesco had closed the door, Flavia heard the unmistakable click of a lock, and the noise of hands brushing against wood and paper.

After a moment of silence, a man's voice shouted out: "No! The lore it holds… the formulas… will corrupt you."

What Flavia had just heard was definitely Italian. And even the voice was familiar.

"_Buon giorno_, Giovanni" Francesco said opening the door of the closet

Giovanni Borgia winced.

"Me… Mentore?" he stuttered. Flavia could not say if he was more scared or embarrassed, considering the person by his side was definitely a woman, even if she was wearing pants like her.

Francesco did nothing but roll his eyes.

"Giovanni, for you I've always been, I am and I will always be Francesco, nothing else. So, please, don't start making me feel old, it's already enough with the three _por-Cellini_"

The joke made both Flavia and Borgia burst into laughter, and even the woman hinted at a laugh.

"Benvenuto, Cecchino and Liberata Cellini… three siblings from Firenze" Borgia was quickly explaining his girlfriend "They're supposed to be Assassins, but they're nothing but _buffoni_"

Francesco immediately made a scowl that would have made Papà envious.

"Let me get this, Giovanni, Paracelsus has gone crazy, you're chased by Templars, more Templars arrive from Cathay and you talk about the Brotherhood like if nothing happened?"

Borgia hinted at an uncomfortable grin and gently pushed the woman from behind with a hand. Under the other arm he had a book, presumably the one he had mentioned just moments before.

"Francesco, Flavia, this is Maria Amiel, Paracelsus's assistant. She helped me out with the Flamel quest and she's willing to cooperate again" he explained "Maria, this is Francesco Vecellio, the man who made me who I am today, and she is Flavia Auditore, his newest understudy"

"Pleased to meet you, Madonna" Francesco said

"If Giovanni speaks so fondly about you, the pleasure is mine, messere" Maria answered with a grin "Hello, Flavia. Nice to meet you"

"My pleasure" Flavia grinned in return

"So this is why you ran off from San Piero a Sieve, Giovanni?" Francesco asked getting back to his lecturing façade.

Borgia did not answer, but it was written all over his face he would have had an answer to that question on the spot.

"Erasmus charged us with finding and getting rid of anything that could involve Flamel" Francesco said eyeing the room up and down "We are going to Paris. Are you in our number?"

* * *

><p><em>Obviously, that was just what Borgia was waiting for. He told us his intentions were to leave the city as soon as possible, and he would actually have stopped at the Headquarters if he had known Francesco was there.<em>

_We joined Jun, Marcello and Alessio at the western gate of the city, we bought a carriage and we left for Paris. Along with Jun, there were two Apprentices, younger than her and from her same country. Francesco commented that, though it would have been harder for them to blend in, two more swords always came in handy._

_The journey took us a week. The Templars surely were looking for three Assassins from Cathay, or a man and a woman travelling alone, so what seemed a quite large family, all wearing European clothes (Francesco had given Jun and her men spare clothes) and strictly minding their own business did not arouse suspicion until we reached our destination. One of the two Apprentices, the youngest, who had a foreign accent too undeniable to pass unnoticed, had to pretend to be dumb every time he left the carriage for any reason._

_Not even the Assassin who should have welcomed us recognized us, even if not really because of the disguise. But that was not a problem, Borgia knew the road._

* * *

><p><em>July 3, 1527, Paris, Porte de St. Antoine<em>

"That fortress over there is called _La Bastille_" Borgia explained as they passed through the eastern gate of the city "I don't know exactly its purpose… point is, that it has been a fortress, a royal residence, a prison… and now they're even building an arsenal!"

"Hear, hear, what the Christian King does" Alessio whistled "Where are we heading?"

"Our destination is to the North-West" Borgia resolved slightly pulling the reins "It's likely they have sent someone for us, but…"

"When my father arrived to Constantinople, the very Master of the city welcomed him at the port" Marcello grimaced from behind him

"There's no Master in Paris" Borgia contradicted him "There's the _Maîtresse_, the Mistress. You three _Assistenti_ would better call her Madame Merle, or just Madame. Francesco, I think you would be allowed to call her Ariane"

"Arianna?" Alessio burst out "Oh, _that_ Arianna!"

"You're hopeless!" Flavia chuckled.

While the two started exchanging barbs, Marcello leaned out of the carriage and paid his attention on the street. They were still in the outskirts, so they had not entered the out-and-out chaos of the capital, but little by little they were proceeding, there were more and more people in the streets, and better dressed.

"It won't be like this all the way" Borgia told him, noticing his curiosity "You'll know we're there when these dressed up middle-class people will scram."

And he was right. The bells of a nearby church had not chimed a quarter of hour and at the roadsides appeared many beggars, many of them leaning to crutches, on carts, one with a peg leg that made Marcello's hair stand up on his neck, the bad memories of the previous year playing their part.

Some seemed disfigured by some deadly disease. A teenage boy was on the ground, foaming at the mouth.

Marcello had almost reached his purse, urging to throw some florins at a girl with two children, one clutching her skirt, the other in her arms, the three of them covered in dark spots, when Borgia clutched his wrist.

"It's not worth it. They're just good actors" he sneered "As well as the eyes and ears of the Brotherhood"

"What?" Alessio asked behind them

"Just you wait for the Sun to set…" Borgia resolved

At a point, by the roadside, they found a boy of about Marcello's age, knelt on the stones, busy handling something with a knife. His clothes were well-cut but covered in dirt. His head was covered by the Assassins' signature hood, and there was a pool of blood near his knees.

"_Che schifo_!" Alessio protested "He's tearing a rat apart!"

"_De gustibus_" Francesco commented "Leonardo da Vinci dissected corpses to know how the human body works, did you know it?"

"You don't have to guess this fright will do the same" Alessio snorted crossing his arms

He had not finished speaking when the boy stood up and turned, looking at them.

"Messer Borgia!"

His voice had not broken yet. He had a strong foreign accent that reminded Marcello of Erasmus's. He had to be a Flanders native.

"Is it them, the people here to… _look – for – Fla-mel_?"

The last three words were a whisper, but Marcello doubted that anyway Italian could be a known language in those ill-famed districts.

"_Sì, siamo noi_" Marcello answered.

"And where's Chaput?" the boy asked

"Chaput!?" Marcello asked confused. That boy was not older than him for sure, yet despite his evident Flemish accent he spoke Italian almost flawlessly… he was _so_ bound to have had a proper education in some prestigious school of his country. There was no doubt, notwithstanding the disreputable district and the dirty clothes, the Flemish came from a good family.

"Guillaume Chaput" Borgia explained "One of the Master Assassins here, he's kinda nuts but he's one of the best. As it seems we managed to fool even him… or he got drunk again. It wouldn't be the first time he's so pissed he forgets his duties"

"Are you going to the court?" the boy asked again, pointing towards North-West "May I…?"

"Come, hop on" Francesco grinned

The boy climbed on the carriage and sat just in front of Alessio, who immediately moved aside with a disgusted expression and a sallow hue.

"Leave him alone, he's just being an idiot" Marcello told the Flemish giving Alessio a nasty look "We have been dirtier than him, Alessio, both of us"

Alessio restricted himself to grimacing.

"Dead _pantegane_… it's _so gross_…"

"Don't like, don't touch" the boy replied to him with a shrug, as Borgia got the carriage going again. He cleaned his hands on a rag before holding out the right one to Marcello.

"Andreas. Andreas van Wesel"

"Marcello Auditore. These are my sister Flavia and my friend Alessio"

"How old are you?"

"Thirteen… well, I'll be in October"

Andreas grinned.

"Lucky you" he told Marcello giving him a pat on the shoulder "I'll have to wait until Saint Sylvester's Day!"

The beggars in the streets had started moving in their same direction. Effectively, the Sun was about to set.

To Marcello it seemed they were in the middle of a rather macabre procession, but Andreas kept grinning.

"They're pretending, they're all pretending" he whispered to him "Thieves. Romani. Maybe tonight you'll also see the… here they call them _courtisanes_…"

"_Mignotte_, we got it" Alessio intercepted him "They don't pretend to be lame, too, do they?"

Andreas chuckled.

"No, no, they roam other districts. The brothel is in the rich district, though, they come here just to report. Where thieves can't arrive, they can" he explained "How did you say it? _Mignatte_?"

"Mignotte" Flavia corrected him "And that's how they say it in Roma, the proper word is _cortigiane_"

"Ah, now it's all square" Andreas hinted at a smile and leaned against a side of the carriage.

In a short time, the street grew too narrow for a carriage to go on. Borgia stopped the horses and told the kids to get down, then he started bargaining with a toothless old man to make him guard the wagon and the beasts.

Around them, the beggars they had met before started walking faster. One of the little boys had started rubbing his face, spreading a dark stain on his cheek. He had _painted his face_!

Not too far from him, the teenager laughed at Marcello and spat out what seemed a piece of soap. _Now that's where the foam came from!_, Marcello thought as he grinned in return.

Many of the cripples had restarted walking normally. The man who seemed to have a peg leg had actually hidden his own under the vest. Now _that_ explained why the place was called Court of Miracles.

"They must be serving dinner at the Guild" Andreas commented "Shall we go?"

"I'm not hungry" Alessio announced.

Marcello chuckled.

"You… not hungry? So why hasn't the sky fallen on our heads?"

He pretended to think about it for a moment, then he shook his head.

"Oh, right, we're in the Court of Miracles!"

"Not everyone is used to see a dissection of an animal, I think" Andreas grinned "Even old hand doctors don't do it themselves… they pay a barber to butcher a pig and recite Galen's works. Baaah."

"A pig, I could understand" Alessio mumbled "Even if they took some Templars and checked if they actually have the backbone, I mean, there's not too much of a difference between Templars and swine…"

"You're afraid of mice, aren't you?" Flavia intervened.

Alessio quickly turned from sallow to an embarrassed purple.

"Not a nice story" he grumbled "The cellars… at the friars'… packed with them"

"No one has it in for you" Marcello told him "Being afraid of mice doesn't automatically emasculate you"

"You say, but Lottini at Trebbio Villa has picked on me just 'cause of Benvenuto"

"Benvenuto? What has he got to do with this?"

"_Wake up_, Marcè. Where have you been in the last thr…" Alessio replied "Oh, right, you were not in Roma. Anyway, he treats me like his own brother, but I think I've seen him a few times associating with boys…"

"Benvenuto? Naah. I mean, all the times in which he got into trouble with courtesans?"

"One thing is not bound to rule out the other" Flavia intervened "By the way, Alessio, are you feeling better?"

Alessio turned, if possible, even more red.

"Sì, I'm better. Shall we go to eat?"

He sprinted forward, with Flavia following hot on his heels, and slipped into what seemed the main building, from which came a smell that reminded immediately meal times in the Papal Army to Marcello.

Andreas smirked and gave a shrug.

"_Is – he – in – love_?" he whispered

"Indeed" Marcello answered grinning in return "And I think it's the same for my sister… I would really like to know when will that _scemo_ step forward"

He gave a sigh.

"I'd say we'd better get in… before Alessio wolfs everything down"

* * *

><p><em>There was almost a celebration mood in those that seemed to all the intents and purposes the worst districts of the city looking from outside.<em>

_Sitting on the ground, on barrels or improvised benches, Assassins, thieves, Romani, many of the fake wretches we had met in the streets, all with a bowl of the same soup with a lot of wet bread in it. Marcello said it seemed to him to be with the Bande again, and obviously Andreas asked him what was he talking about._

* * *

><p>"Until last year I used to travel with an army" Marcello explained as he finished emptying his bowl "The Capitano was my master. I was like a little brother for him, he never left me on my own"<p>

"Huh" Andreas said laying his bowl and spoon on the floor. Flavia thought he was bound to have understood on his own what was bound to have happened.

"I used to know him, you know?" Borgia intervened getting closer and taking a seat near him with a full bowl in his hands.

"Where's Alessio?" he asked looking around "Don't tell me he has gone to ask for seconds!"

"_Va bene_, we won't tell you" Marcello chuckled as Alessio came back to his place with his second helping of soup.

"You never stop eating, don't you?" Borgia asked him

"I'm growing up" Alessio replied

"Messer Borgia, how did you know Marcello's master?" Andreas intervened

"Well, we spent some years training together as kids" Borgia explained "Actually, the whole thing started from a misunderstanding, he was called Giovanni like me and at a point we answered together to the same call. First we shouted at each other and then we shook hands."

Andreas chuckled, then he became serious.

"You miss him, don't you? Both of you."

"It's life" Borgia cut short "It's normal, losing people and suffering for it, if you don't, you're a bloody misanthropist, and believe me, that's loads worse. We both wept when a friend of ours was killed. Both Medici and I, I mean, and already at seventeen he blustered…"

* * *

><p>… <em>like if he had already been twenty-two. Yet he cried, he didn't even stop in front of Francesco. I have to say, we had tried to prevent… Alessio, will you listen? We had tried to prevent Filippo from being attacked. And the only thing we actually managed was to take his son away while he tried to hold the killers back… and paid his life for that.<em>

* * *

><p><em>July 2, 1515, Roma<em>

"Move, Medici! _Run_!"

"Easy to say run!" replied Medici, who had Alessio in his arms and was both slowed down and unable to use any weapon. "Had I had a sword, I would have showed those pigs what I'm able to do!"

"Bears, bears, bear cubs" Alessio squeaked from his arms.

"Shut up!" Medici burst out looking daggers at him. Alessio started whining, frightened.

"Well done!" Giovanni scolded his friend. "Weeping baby, just what we needed to attract the killers and the guards too!"

"Shut up and let's get to the Den!"

"With the soldiers chasing us? _Sei pazzo_?"

"Last time I checked I was still Medici."

Giovanni really did not know how could his best friend start joking in such a situation. A crossbow bolt had hit his arm, and despite he had taken it off, he had his sleeve covered in blood. What was left of it, at least, after he had torn it to bandage the wound.

Filippo was dead.

And now the killers were after _them_.

"We have to give them the slip in some way" Giovanni said as they turned a corner trying to make their enemies get lost in the alleys.

"Do you see any hideout? Use the eagle vision, _imbecille_!" Medici burst out. That wound was bound to hurt.

"And could you make Alessio stay quiet? _Without_ making him cry?"

They had arrived by the Tevere, near the hospital. The best thing at that point would have been jumping in the water and hiding under a bridge. They would not have gone far, not if they had had to cross the river on a bridge. And Medici would have never been able to swim, not with a wounded arm _and_ the kid on his shoulders.

"Nothing else to do. We have to leave him here" Giovanni resolved pointing at the foundlings' wheel.

"What? _Abandon him_?" Medici's arms instinctively clutched the toddler. "No. Borgia, _no_. We can't. He lost his father! He hasn't anyone apart from us. Apart from the Brotherhood. Got to take him… don't know, to Claudia, or in a safe house…"

"No time for it! They're looking for _us_, not him! And sooner or later they'll catch us, especially if Alessio keeps bawling!" Giovanni burst out. "We can't cross the bridges, we'd attract more guards. And we can't carry Alessio while we swim, he'd be quite the weight. You're wounded, Medici, you can't keep ignoring it."

"_Sto bene_"

"Do you want to end up like Malik Al-Sayf?"

"_Sto bene!_"

He was all right his ass. His nose was running, and he had started unequivocally crying. And if Giovanni de' Medici cried instead of frantically chewing on his nails like he usually did, either the Almighty God was about to strike someone with lightning, or he was not all right at all.

"You're _crying._"

"We're going back to the Den! The three of us!" Medici almost shouted. "I'll swim, I can do it!"

A voice from an alley screamed out "Assassini!". Giovanni knew he would have regretted all his life what he was about to do, but he had no choice.

It was either Alessio or the three of them.

He punched Medici's arm on the wound, snatched Alessio out of his grip, and shut him in the foundlings' wheel. Then he seized Medici by the collar…

* * *

><p>… <em>and we descended towards the river.<em>

* * *

><p>A sudden bang made everyone flinch: Alessio's bowl had fallen down, breaking into three pieces and leaving on the floor a small pool of broth.<p>

Alessio had stood up.

"_It was you_?"

"I had no choice."

"Did you have an idea of what I would have gone through? Of what I _have_ gone through?"

"Sì, I did and I _do_. But I was afraid you would have drowned, or you would have attracted soldiers bawling."

"How many bawling babies there are in Roma? You could have gagged me, or split up so one of you could have gone looking for help…"

"I would have never left Medici alone with a wounded arm."

"You left _me_ alone!"

Borgia stayed silent for a moment.

"I was afraid, Alessio."

The situation could have gotten out of hand, but Alessio immediately calmed down when he spotted Francesco Vecellio approaching, along with Jun and a middle-aged woman who could have been no one but Madame Merle.

"Arguments, _ragazzi_?"

"No, I was going away" Borgia said standing up and putting his bowl on the bench. "Maria and I are spending the night at my place, I don't think she likes it here" he resolved, getting away and looking for Maria in the crowd.

It did not take long to understand that Francesco had always the same effect on Borgia – making him feel a little boy. Flavia found herself asking whether it would have been the same for her in some years' time, but she quickly dismissed the thought. Borgia had met Francesco when he had been a very small boy, she had been only months away from turning twelve when she had been introduced to her master.

For Alessio, she told herself, it would not have been a problem at all. An age gap of thirteen years could seem a lot now he was just fourteen years old, but Flavia already imagined he and Benvenuto would have started mocking each other and joking like Benvenuto did with (or better, put up with) Cecchino already in five, six years' time.

As for Marcello… _oh_. Now they were far away, she had almost managed to forget that Giovanni dalle Bande Nere, the legend she had heard about since she had had memory and, for who knew what miracle, she had managed to meet, and not just that, now was in the crypts of Saint Francis's Church in Mantova, and would have probably stayed in there forever.

Marcello had recovered his smile, that was for sure, but for how long? They had left Firenze with Zio Niccolò old and sick, and who could have said if he would have recovered, or worsened, or even worse if the disease would have taken his life?

Zio Niccolò had been the man Giovanni had chosen to continue what he had begun with Marcello. Where could have they found another Master Assassin who could…?

_One moment… Borgia!_ Giovanni de'Medici had decided Borgia as second choice!

That explained why Francesco had been after him, why he had said the moment in which he had left the Villa had been the worst possible… their target was not Nicolas Flamel, not only him.

Francesco wanted to see that Borgia accepted Marcello as an Apprentice.

"… we know about a man and a woman, very advanced in years as it seems, who carry out charitable deeds from side to side of this city" Madame Merle was saying in the meantime. "Some of us have tried to approach them pretending to be wounded or ill, but it's clear that, whoever this man and woman are, they have smelled a rat a long time ago."

"If he really is Flamel, he is _so_ bound to recognize a fake sick person" Andreas intervened. "I mean, I can recognize them…"

"Well, I don't think another boy your age could so easily, Andreas" Madame Merle commented. "His father works as doctor and apothecary at the Kaiser's court. His mother is on our side, she has been making him spend the summer here for some years… she fears the Templars at the court might use him against her" she explained to Francesco.

"I'm going to Leuven next year" Andreas said with a hint of pride in his voice. "University. And I quite doubt the Templars would put agents in there just to keep watch on me. I mean, they don't know my mother is an Assassin yet, they would only waste time on me."

"So, let's see if I got it right" Flavia intervened. "Pretending to be sick didn't work with the alleged Flamels. So are you actually suggesting to use real wounded people, Madame?"

"But if things are this way, what can we do?" Marcello asked, visibly worried. "We can't seriously wound someone just for Flamel to find them… it might even be a violation of the Creed!"

"We know, Marcello, calm down" Francesco intervened. "We have thought about paying _real_ wretches to start asking for alms in the places where Flamel has been sighted. Just, we can't do it straightaway, and not in the places where our men have stationed. They'd smell a rat again. Actually, I really would like to know who was the abysmal _idiota_ who has had this false sick people idea."

Andreas shook his head and chuckled.

"_Who_ could have been?"

Before he had time to add something else, a man in his late thirties, with a _chitarra_ badly strapped to his back, pale face, messy black hair, and a strong smell of smoke around him, rushed in and stopped in front of them, short of breath and bewildered.

"Guillaume?" Madame Merle asked. "Shouldn't you have been waiting for Mentore Vecellio?"

"_Lupus in fabula_" Andreas commented with a smirk, though his smile quickly faded as he saw Guillaume Chaput's shocked expression.

"We're under attack…" Chaput panted with his hands on his knees. "The houses… in the middle districts… set… on fire…"

* * *

><p><em><strong>Bomba = bomb, "Er Bomba" (RD) = the bomb<strong>_

_**Alterius non sit qui suus esse potest! (LATIN) = Let no man who belongs to himself be of another! (I know, I know, it was English in the game, but one, Latin was the language of scholars, two, it is actually quoted from Cicero.)**_

_**Cojone (RD) = prick**_

_**Che a'pantegana venga a magnarse er cacio (part Italian, part RD) = like Marcello said, "for the rat to come and eat the cheese"**_

_**Cours des Miracles (French) = Courts of Miracles**_

_**Buon giorno = good morning**_

_**Porcellini = little pigs. It's actually a pun on the family name "Cellini" and the fairy tale of the three little pigs.**_

_**Buffoni = clowns, fools**_

_**Porte de St. Antoine = Saint Anthony's Gate**_

_**Ariane, Arianna = don't tell me you don't remember Alessio's gaffe about Ariadne's thread!**_

_**Che schifo = how gross**_

_**De gustibus (non est disputandum) (LATIN) = in matters of opinions (there must not be debate). It's a common proverb in Italy, even in the original Latin.**_

_**Sì, siamo noi = yes, we are**_

_**Pantegane = street rats**_

_**Saint Sylvester's Day = just in case you don't know, New Year's Eve. Poor, POOR Andreas.**_

_**Courtisanes (French) = courtesans**_

_**Mignotte (RD) = whores, courtesans**_

_**Mign**__**a**__**tte = leeches (yeah, poor Andreas!)**_

_**Scemo = fool**_

"_**soup with a lot of wet bread in it" = it's actually a pun on the Italian proverb "if it's not soup, it's wet bread". And actually, the bread has been wet in broth ;)**_

_**Capitano = captain**_

_**Va bene = OK**_

_**Sei pazzo? = Are you mad? (Notice the word "pazzo". Plural for it is PAZZI.) I actually had planned this pun in Chapter 6, but then I discarded it, it might have suited Vanni, but not twenty-eight-year-old, Captain Vanni, in a serious speech. Another kettle of fish is for a teenager.**_

_**Imbecille = arse**_

_**Sto bene = I'm OK**_

_**Ragazzi = kids**_

_**Lupus in fabula (LATIN) = speak of the wolf and he's bound to appear. Same as the Devil proverb, but given Andreas Van Wesel's knowledge of Latin, I preferred making him say the Latin version.**_


	17. Miracle at the Court

_**So... hello again!**  
><em>

_**Wanna play a game? Who of you has ever read Ken Follett books?**_

_**I've left a pair of references to TWO of his latest books in this chapter. I want to see if you can find them and tell me from which books they are.**_

_**Oh, I do really thank Polyne55 and LadyVe from DeviantART for their translation in French and Dutch of some sentences I wrote (Yup, no lame Google Translate for me!).**_

* * *

><p><em>January 5, 2013, Assassins' Headquarters<em>

Desmond did not remember ever spending so much time on a book, let alone on a book written by another Assassin. In the last days, he had told himself that probably that had been Shaun's revenge for being kept away from the Animus.

It was almost _strange_ for him, having to imagine what had happened starting simply from mere words, or at least it seemed so, after he had seen events with his own eyes, felt the wounds, smelled the blood, proved the humiliation of defeat, the pain of losses and the excitement of victories.

It _definitely _was Shaun's retaliation.

As far as he had understood, Alessio Falcone, the artist boy, had seen Juno in the tunnels, talking… to him. And judging by how Flavia had written about him, Desmond would not have been surprised at all if he had found the news of their wedding many pages further.

Probably, he would have had to ask Rebecca to check if there actually _was_ an Alessio Falcone among his ancestors. He would have liked to see the scene of the _Capitoline Geese_ who had called Flavia a tomboy when she had gone with Alessio to deliver some candlesticks, that had been bound to be fun.

Who knew where Rebecca was now… probably, it was not the time to think about it. She had likely taken a break like him, and now she was spending some time with her family and dog.

Talking about dogs… what he had just heard hadn't been a bark?

He laid down the book on the page in which Guillaume Chaput had just announced a Templar attack and he ventured into the nearest hallway.

A medium – small-sized dog, with white and brown fur and a leash strapped to its collar without any master pulling the other end, was effectively running up and down the hallway at full speed, barking and wagging its tail at nothing in particular.

A foot on the loose end of the leash was sufficient to stop it, after that Desmond only had to pick up the animal and keep it still, while it tried repeatedly to lick his face.

"What are you doing in here? Huhh?" he told the dog trying to grab its muzzle. "We have ditched our owner, haven't we?"

"Desmond, please, tell me you've found Rusty" Rebecca's voice came from behind the corner.

"It depends, is it by any chance a Jack Russell Terrier high on sugar?" Desmond joked.

Rebecca joined him and took Rusty from him.

"I was at my parents' home until yesterday. My mother was all like "either you take it away, or I'll call Victoria Stillwell", and let's say I'd like the cameras of _It's me or the dog_ to be quite far away from my place."

"Have you restarted working?"

"Not on you. A boy, Jack Newell, has started having Bleeding Effect symptoms, and they want me to keep an eye on him and put him in the Black Room if he worsens. Your father asked me to find a Synch Nexus straightaway, and Shaun told me he charged someone with researching facts out of the Animus."

"He charged _me_, actually" Desmond snorted. That explained how on Earth Shaun was making him… _haste_ with the reading of all those memories. "Just, I would have liked him to tell me. He as good as shoved Flavia Auditore's written memories in my hands and told me I would have had to read them."

"Found anything about Marcello we could use?" Rebecca asked putting Rusty on the ground.

"He just befriended a boy called Andreas. I guess I'll have to go loads further if I want to see him coming to terms with everything he has seen. _If_ Flavia will mention it…"

"He was her brother and best friend. If at a point it happened, she is bound to have seen it" Rebecca resolved with a shrug. "Will we meet again, Desmond?"

"I guess we will" Desmond answered going back towards the door of his room.

Rebecca tugged at Rusty's leash and went back from where she came from.

"Hey, Rebecca!"

She turned.

"I just wanted to know… if maybe one of these days you check for a guy called Alessio Falcone among my ancestors?"

* * *

><p>Chapter 16<p>

Miracle at the Court

_It was La Motte. La Motte again, as Francesco said._

_We came running into a road at the very edge of the poor district, where plumes of smoke were rising from some of the houses._

_Francesco immediately told me, Marcello and Alessio to try to spot any of the responsible people – and warn him without intervening._

_Alessio disobeyed the command almost immediately and killed two or three of them with a gun Benvenuto had given him in Anzio before an enemy archer shot him in the knee with an arrow._

* * *

><p><em>Night between July 3 and 4, Paris<em>

"Which part of "not intervene" you haven't understood?" Francesco bellowed at Alessio as he moved his weight on his unharmed leg. "If it had been a bullet, you might have been already doomed!"

"They'd have found us anyway, Francè" Alessio panted leaning against a wall. "I might as well get them before they get me."

Francesco covered his eyes with a hand.

"Where the fuck is Giovanni when I need him?"

Flavia had never seen him losing his temper like that. It being understood that she had never seen him directing an action, she could see from a mile that he was terrorized.

The memories of his defeat in Roma surely were getting the better of him.

"I'll take him away, Mentore" Andreas intervened putting one of Alessio's arms around his shoulders.

"You ain't takin' me anywhere!" Alessio replied pushing him away and trying to take the arrow off.

As far as he could look like a calm and shy kid, Andreas had undoubtedly boiled over after the push, because he stepped forward again and smacked hard Alessio's hand.

"_Beweeg je niet, verdomme_!"

"What the fuck…?" Alessio replied, puzzled.

Andreas grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand away from the arrow.

"It'll get worse if you pull it out that way!"

"It hurts, you _stronzo_!"

Andreas probably had not understood the swearword, or probably had just decided to ignore him, because he put Alessio's arm around his shoulders again and said he could not get the last word.

"Take him to safety, Andreas, and make sure that arrow is taken out only when he'll be on a bed" Francesco resolved. "Marcello, you've helped in the field hospital of the Bande Nere, haven't you?"

"I just passed stuff and such" Marcello answered shrugging.

"Go with Andreas. And you too, Flavia."

"Francè, I can hide somewhere" Alessio replied. "If we run towards the Court, I'll slow down the others and attract Templars!"

A man with white hair and a long beard had just gotten out of one of the houses untouched by fire. He was effectively the only person who had gone out in the street during the attack.

"Who would attack a child?"

"Whoever attacked the ones in there!" Alessio exclaimed pointing at the nearest house on fire.

The man looked at the arson, then he laid his look on Francesco, and then on the kids.

"Get in, kids. In my house. And… Messer…?"

"Francesco, call me Francesco."

"If you find more wounded people, take them to me. They can spend the night at my place."

Francesco looked very skeptical, but the man looked more than sincere.

"For heaven's sake, Messer Francesco, they're wounded children! Do you really believe I might be willing to harm them?"

An arrow darted across the road, and bounced off on the pavement only because Francesco had moved aside at the very last moment.

"Go with him" Francesco sighed. "Marcello, Andreas and Flavia, I'm putting my trust in you. Andreas, are you able to tend to a wound?"

"No problem, Me…_sser_ Francesco. I would be able to stitch one if I had to."

"_Bene_. I trust you…"

"You keep repeating yourself, Francè" Alessio snorted. He still had an arm around Andreas's shoulders, and despite the latter was not exactly a dwarf, he was visibly shorter than Alessio, who was in quite an awkward position to keep his wounded leg up.

The elder led them through a hall that once had been a bookstore for sure, then up a ramp of stairs where Marcello had to help Alessio from the other side, and finally in what seemed a spare room. He told something in French to an old lady who could not be anyone but his wife and pointed to Andreas the bed so Alessio could be laid down on it.

"That's the story of my life!" Alessio snorted as Andreas took out a knife and cut his pants around the wound.

"You can tell you've never learned it, you shouldn't have used a gun" Flavia replied to him. "Noise and smoke made you an easy target. You may have struck down two of them, but the third had all the time to aim and shoot."

Alessio did not answer, but he gritted his teeth and groaned when Andreas lightly touched the arrow.

In that very moment, the mistress of the house entered the room with water, what seemed wine and clean bandages.

"_Laissez-moi faire, Madame. Je vais le faire_" Andreas intervened taking everything from her hands.

"_Que Dieu te garde, mon petit_" the lady resolved kissing him on his head.

Andreas visibly blushed, and, when the lady was gone, he whispered: "_Little one_? Come on, I'm twelve and a half!"

"They have never had kids in my opinion" Marcello commented. "Even my father, he had me and my sister really late, he could be never really convinced we had ceased crawling on the floor since long."

"Marcello, could you come here and keep Alessio still? I wouldn't want him to…" Andreas asked.

"Hold me still? Are you joking or what? I can stay still on my own!" Alessio protested.

"That's for _so_ sure, you know, all surgeons do it" Andreas commented. "You can't operate anyone without holding him still in some way, or pain will make him move like crazy and get hurt. I don't even know if Marcello is enough, it takes eight men to hold down an adult. Why, have you ever heard about someone who went under the knife without anyone holding him down and without laudanum?"

As Marcello showed signs of distress, Alessio sighed and rolled his eyes.

"_Va bene_."

"Flavia, please, can you come here with that candle over there? I need to see what I'm doing." Andreas bent over Alessio's wounded knee and started cutting off the arrow with the knife he had used to tear his pants.

"Will you do it quickly?" Alessio whined in an irritated tone.

"Really sorry, but I'd prefer making sure splinters won't hurt you" Andreas replied snapping off what remained of the arrow and laying down the half he had just broken. "Do me a favor, Flavia is busy and Marcello too, press where I'm pointing" he added, pointing with his index finger just over the wound.

Once Alessio had done what he had been ordered to do, Andreas grabbed what remained of the arrow and pulled it out with a tug.

"Don't let go" he told Alessio. "If you do, the blood you're seeing now will ooze out twice as much."

He quickly washed both the holes first with water and then with wine, then he bandaged everything.

"Now you can let go" he panted cleaning up his hands on the usual rag. "Who knows how much blood you would have lost if you had done this on your own…"

"_Va bene_, I learned the lesson" Alessio said having a stretch.

"He will heal, won't he?" Marcello asked, worried.

"Arrow wounds won't make you lose a leg. Not usually" Andreas explained setting the leftover bandages and water aside. "I can't say when he'll be able to walk again, though. Maybe my father would have done it better, I'm just Andreas van Wesel… _junior._"

"Your old man doesn't owe me a pair of pants though!" Alessio yawned.

Andreas grinned and sat on the ground, as Flavia and Marcello did the same. After a moment of hesitation, Alessio sat up on the edge of the bed.

"Stay down!" Andreas ordered him.

"Why? I'm feeling better!"

Marcello sighed.

"Vanni said he was better too" he mumbled. "Alessio, please, do as he says, I'm worried for you."

"I'm doing it only 'cause you asked, Marcè" Alessio said laying down again. "But if I still feel better, I'll go on the floor. If Francesco still trusts the old man, other people will need the bed more than me."

"They'll have burns for sure" Andreas answered. "As far as I remember, the only thing we can do with those is keeping them clean and cover them. Some doctors use stinky poultices to make the wounds ooze pus, but my father doubts they are actually of some use."

"Fancy that, the soldiers who had pus oozing out of their wounds after a battle either left behind a limb or their feathers, usually" Marcello intervened. "Whoever said pus is a sign of good health, he is an _idiota_."

"They may heal or kill, but I don't know how to prepare them" Andreas resolved. "By the way, we should ask the masters of the house for more water, more wine and some olive oil, if they have it. It would be a real miracle if they had laudanum or hemp oil, the less they feel pain, the better I'd work. And tomorrow the wounded must be sent to a doctor, a _real_ doctor."

"Why, you aren't one?" Alessio replied.

"Sure, me!"

* * *

><p><em>We spent hours in that room, while, every now and then, Chaput carried in a wounded child. The oldest were about eleven years old, the youngest could be four, or five. Surely the babies and toddlers had been taken away by their mothers in time, at least the ones who had been saved.<em>

_Most of them had burns, but the oldest also had gashes or arrow wounds, probably because they had stayed behind trying to protect their little brothers and sisters._

_Andreas directed everything. The elder couple _did_ have hemp oil, but Andreas was quite unwilling to use it, he feared a dose too high might have harmed someone, and kept it only for those who visibly suffered._

_The bells had struck twelve when Francesco came back to us._

* * *

><p><em>July 4, 1527, Paris<em>

"Ragazzi… it's over."

He strongly smelled of smoke, like Chaput at the Court, and there were holes in his clothes with black and scorched edges.

Judging by the even stronger smell coming from his hair and by several locks shorter than they had been hours before, he had gotten his hair burnt too at least once.

"Are there other injured people?" was the first question that Andreas, who still had bandages in his hands, asked.

"No one that needs your attention. You should rest a bit, you have done an outstanding work for your age."

"I'll decide if my work was good when I'll see how many will make it through the night" Andreas said.

Despite Andreas had kept calm, cool and collected during the whole emergency, now he showed his insecurity, Marcello felt the familiar chill that had already grabbed his stomach in Mantova.

He had to repeat several times in his head that no one had been hit by a cannon to calm down a bit. He had seen many cold weapon wounds, in his two years with the Bande, and usually who was sent to the surgeon for a wound like that came back in the ranks before long.

Even if, effectively… among the youngsters Andreas had had to cure, there had not even been anyone with _bullet_ wounds.

"Francesco, how was the fight?" Marcello intervened.

"Better than I expected, I have to say" Francesco answered. "Jun and her team dispatched the archers on the rooftops, Giovanni sprang to our aid as soon as he saw smoke from his house and told them where to go. I think a big share of our victory came from their element of surprise, they have weapons that probably the local Templars have never seen before. We had to make sure the Templars who had seen them did not live to tell the tale, but for this the Parisians were more than enough. But in all of this, _c'è puzza di bruciato._"

"That comes from your hair, Francè!" Alessio chuckled from the blanket on the floor on which he had insisted to be laid down.

"It was a cold weapon only fight. Wasn't it, Francesco?" Marcello said.

"Exactly, Marcello" Francesco exclaimed laying a hand on the doorframe. "Now, it's better if we go back to the Headquarters the soonest possible, the injured must be seen by a doctor or a surgeon."

"What doctor? Andreas here was more than enough!" Alessio protested.

"You will be seen by the doctor, and you'll also be the first" Francesco replied as Alessio tried to stand up on his own. "And don't even think about it! Marcello, help him up."

"Isn't it dangerous?" Marcello asked while Alessio reluctantly put an arm around his shoulders. "Wouldn't it be better if we called here the doctor?"

"Calm down, Marcello, it will be all right. Giovanni sent for someone with wheelbarrows or stretchers for the ones who are sleeping or cannot walk at all, you four start going back, I'll stay here and keep watch on the other kids" Francesco explained. "Go straight towards the Court, we have placed Assassins on the rooftops to keep watch over the roads. There should not be problems, but if there were… Andreas, are you armed?"

"I only have a knife" Andreas answered pulling his knife from his belt. "Here in Paris the waters are calm, not too many Apprentices are equipped…" he continued as his look laid curiously on the sword strapped to Marcello's belt and to Alessio's gun. "… like that."

"Now waters ain't so calm" Alessio commented.

Francesco pulled a sheathed dagger from his belt and put it in Andreas's hands, then he pulled out three throwing knives.

"Can you throw them, _ragazzo_?"

"No… not well, at least" Andreas stuttered.

"Then you'd better hold Alessio up. I do trust you, but Marcello has already been on the battlefield before" Francesco resolved. "Alessio, in case you are attacked, _don't mess up_. You've already been wounded once, and Benvenuto will murder me if you get hurt again while I'm watching you!"

Alessio fumed loudly, but he let Andreas hold him up (after complaining about the fact the young Fleming was definitely "a shorty" compared to Marcello) and let slip a grin when Francesco waved them goodbye.

"Your master, that Benvenuto, must be really fond of you" Andreas commented as they took again the alleys leading to the Court.

"He has three sibs and he treats me as his fourth" Alessio snorted. "Sometimes… I don't really get him. Medici and Borgia grew up on their own, he's the second of four instead, his bro Cecchino is a pain in his ass… I don't even think he would have taken me as an Apprentice if I hadn't been so good at drawing."

"Nah, Alessio, don't talk nonsense!" Flavia replied. "_Benvenuto ti vuole davvero bene_. He has artist apprentices and helpers, but he has double standards when it matters you. With them it's all a matter of lodging, work and wages. When you got that bad cold a winter ago instead, do you remember the bells did not strike an hour without him going up to your room to check on you?"

"I'd rather say that he didn't want me to leave the bloody bed. Far worse than Donna Claudia!"

"And by the way, I think that if something happened to Cecchino, Benvenuto would break down" Marcello continued. "Alessio, if you said he treats you like he treats Cecchino, it just means he loves you both from the bottom of his soul."

"The three of you, if you count Liberata."

"The four of us, he also has an older sister. In the convent of St. Orsola wearing the veil" Alessio resolved. "He wrote me, when we were in Basel, you know? He told me he was on the walls of Castel Sant'Angelo fighting against Spaniards… there was a commander strutting along with his sword in front of him… he loads a culverin and shoots him… the ball sends the sword on him and the Spaniard ends up cut in half!"

This sounded like one of the usual Benvenuto Brags, as though the artist was skilled with firearms, he was as much at swaggering.

"And to cap it all he made quite the comment in which he says he would have impressed even Grand Master Altair, didn't he?" Flavia commented.

"He must be joking!" Marcello burst out.

"_Geweldig_!" Andreas gasped. "Altair would have certainly been impressed, I think!"

"For what, the assassination or the imagination?" Alessio resolved. "We'll have to ask Paolo how much of this is true."

* * *

><p><em>We were the first to arrive at the Court of Miracles. Only the youngest Apprentices, some of the adults watching the buildings with weapons at the ready, and many women with children who, judging by the soot on their clothes, had just escaped the fire.<em>

_The news about Andreas curing the wounded as it seemed had already spread, because as soon as he entered the Headquarters, holding Alessio who was almost able to walk on his own, the building was full of their cheers and applause. Many mothers rushed to him asking if he had seen their kid, if he was all right, out of danger. In the end Marcello had to stand in the middle and say the surgeon of the Headquarters would have had the last word on the injured kids._

_Alessio was the first to be examined, and the surgeon declared the wound was on the mend, and he restricted himself to change the bandages and say he would have been able to run again in a few days._

_Little by little, the other kids arrived, and they punctually had to wait to be seen by the surgeon to be hugged by their mothers. Even the ones who had had to be carried there seemed to be visibly better. Andreas had to undergo the relatives' praises again._

* * *

><p>"<em>Ça suffit, mesdames, laissez-le respirer!<em>" Borgia intervened entering the room and pulling Andreas out of the mob.

"This is really the Court of Miracles…" Francesco sighed entering after him with a five-year-old boy in his arms. He passed the child to his mother and then he signaled to the Assassins coming after him to follow him.

"Flavia, Marcello, Alessio and Andreas, you too" he said, as the boy he had carried started blabbering to his mother about the Mentor carrying him in his arms.

They settled in a corner of the room (Alessio had leaned on Marcello to reach it, but Flavia suspected he would have wanted to get there on his own) and Francesco started explaining the situation.

"So, the attack was structured in a similar way to an aggression of the Templars happened twenty-five years ago, in Roma" he explained. "They set on fire a building in which we had taken refuge in crowds, and they started shooting whoever managed to get out. There were survivors only thanks to an apprentice who managed to escape before the arson and raised the alarm to the Headquarters. Here, the thing is different. The building was not overcrowded, the settlers were mostly women and children, who have nothing to do with the Brotherhood but the blood ties. Casualties on our side have been minimal, one or two people trapped before we could get them to safety. And we haven't heard gunshots, not from them."

"All the wounds we've seen were burns or cold weapon gashes" Marcello commented. "They_ have_ used only cold weapons, didn't they?"

Francesco nodded.

"I think their aim was just do some damage and run away" Jun intervened. "Some were already going away when my men got them. They let themselves be killed. No captives."

"They were working on something secret" Chaput commented. "Hit and run, maybe they just wanted to hurt, not to kill. And I think I know why. That street is one of the places where I made our men lie in wait for Flamel."

Borgia gave a start on his chair.

"Enlighten me, Guillaume. Would you mean that they have tried to harm our children so that Flamel could get out to cure them and come out into the open?"

"_Précisement,_ Giovanni. We're lucky Andreas was there and took care of them indoors before people actually got in the streets" Chaput resolved. "By the way, Andreas, thanks for curing my Jacques."

Andreas blushed and stuttered a "you're welcome", then he seemed to find very interesting the mud stains on his boots.

"So it was a trap, just not for us" Alessio said. "La Motte is marching on and we're just losing time!"

It was the first time Alessio spoke since they had come back to the Court, but there was something wrong.

Marcello, too, seemed to have noticed something. And, as for open mouths, Borgia's too was certainly not shut.

Alessio raised an eyebrow and looked at them all, then he fumed: "What are you staring at?"

"Teeth…" one of the Apprentices in Jun's team said pointing at him.

"Sì, I know I have a broken tooth, thanks a lot, I got it punched away when I was eight" Alessio said trying to point at it. Just, _there was no broken tooth._

After touching three or four teeth, he noticed it, too, immediately blanched and turned his gaze from Francesco to Borgia, like if he was looking for an explanation.

"How the fuck did it happen?"

"Actually, I have never seen someone recovering so fast after taking an arrow to the knee" Chaput intervened giving Alessio a funny look. "Maybe if your friends are the Prophet's kids, maybe you descend from Aquilus… or maybe Leonius or Dante Alighieri?"

"Ha, ha, fancy that, me… descending from Dante Alighieri!" Alessio burst out.

"He has a point. His father was born in the Regno di Napoli" Francesco said. "By the way, a broken tooth does not grow again, and an arrow in a knee leaves a wound far more serious than the one Alessio is showing at the moment. Something doesn't fit."

"What?" Marcello asked. "We have been with Alessio all the time, and nothing and no one got close to him! It was Andreas who cured his wound!"

Andreas, too, grew pale.

Then he took a hand to his face and swore in his language.

"The water!" he said jumping to his feet. "The water they gave us. And the wine. And bandages! Marcello… the two old timers, they didn't say their names!"

"Wait, Andre'… you mean those two were Nicolas Flamel _e signora_?" Alessio asked.

"What other explanation do you have?" Andreas said walking towards the center of the circle. "I am twelve years old, only twelve years old. What I know about medicine is what I've seen my father and grandfather doing. I expected someone to catch a fever. For a start. I am no doctor and no surgeon, I'm just a… a _Dienaar_" he said, after a moment of wavering, raising two fingers to clarify his rank of _Servitore_.

He moved a few steps in the center of the circle and turned to Francesco and Ariane.

"I think they have tried to exploit the fact we are still young to make us believe the fact everyone recovered was a fluke."

He turned his gaze to Alessio and raised a hand.

"But flukes don't mend broken teeth."

While Andreas lowered his hand and went back to his seat, a pin could have been heard falling for the silence that had just fallen in the room.

Despite nobody said nothing, Flavia could imagine what they were thinking. If Andreas's hypothesis was well-grounded, it meant the Assassins had always had Nicolas Flamel two steps away from their Headquarters and they had never noticed him.

Borgia seemed to be the one most ill at ease, and in reason: if he had really, as Erasmus had said, spent the months before his summoning to Roma looking for the elderly alchemist, the fact that a not even thirteen-year-old boy had found him before he could had to be shaming at the very least.

"What if they have used a Piece of Eden?" Chaput intervened.

"No" Borgia answered, leaning his forehead on a hand. "If a Piece of Eden had been _used_, I would have felt it. What's more, the only Piece of Eden capable of such a… _thing_… is in the hands of the Brotherhood. By the way, there is only a way to understand if effectively the water and the wine Andreas used to wash the wounds have been adulterated in some way."

"I don't think so" Andreas contradicted him with a bitter smile. "I left everything in there."

"No, I didn't mean sniffing the bottles" Borgia chuckled and shook his head. "If there has really been put something that can heal wounds in there, Alessio here will be able to stand up and walk, though."

Alessio didn't move.

"_I'm talking to you_, Alessio di Filippo Falcone da Roma."

"Play God with someone else" Alessio snorted turning away.

"Assistente Falcone, _stand up_" Francesco intervened.

Alessio stood up, then he left the circle, with a slight limp on the right leg, and reached the opposite angle of the room.

"This confirms your hypothesis, I'd say" Chaput said. "Let's sleep on it, it's too late for plans now."

Borgia was the first to leave the circle, but Francesco was faster and seized him by the ear.

"Not so fast, Giovanni. You're not going anywhere if you don't tell me why Alessio is so mad at you."

Borgia gritted his teeth and panted something that sounded like: "Because I closed him in the foundlings' wheel."

Francesco let his ear go and weaved.

"I think he has _every right to be angry_" he said, keeping his voice high on purpose while the other Assassins, apart from Jun, Flavia, Marcello and Andreas, broke the ranks. "But we don't have to forget that _someone_ would have taken back home once he would have turned eight. He _would_ have been told the truth. If he had not _decided_ to turn back because, _like Giovanni_, he was afraid."

Alessio gave them the shoulders and did not move.

Borgia ferreted about in a bag he surely had brought from his house and laid on a bench what seemed a piece of folded cloth.

"Whenever you want, turn your head, Alessio."

He got away.

"I'm going home."

"And never try to keep something like this hidden from me again!" Francesco reprimanded him as he went after him. "Remember, we are a Brotherhood, problems are meant to be solved together!"

As Borgia closed the door behind himself, Francesco took a hand to his face and sighed.

"He'll drive me crazy, sooner or later."

* * *

><p><em>It seemed so strange everything had happened in just one day. The Court of Miracles, Andreas, Flamel, the revelation on why Alessio had not been brought up in the Brotherhood even if he had been born into it.<em>

_Despite I was worried for Alessio, I could not help being happy for Marcello. It was the first time I saw him on good terms with another boy of his age, someone who didn't treat him as a barmy or a legend. We both knew his friendship with Andreas probably wouldn't have lasted long, but if not else, Marcello was happy to finally have someone his age to spend some time._

_We would have wanted to try and talk to Alessio, but Jun told us it would have been better to leave him alone for a while. As Chaput had said, we had to sleep on the matter._

* * *

><p>"<em>Whenever you want, turn your head, Alessio<em>" Alessio crooned in a passable imitation of Borgia. "He may stick his apologies up his ass!"

There was no one listening to him, or at least no one he could see. Flavia, Marcello and Andreas had gotten blankets from who knew where and had settled in a corner.

_Sure, Flavia._

He would have always been nobody, for her.

He knew how the world went. Flavia's family, despite having fallen into disgrace years before her birth, had been a part of minor nobility anyway. They had a country estate which gave them an income from the vineyards, an under construction bookshop in Firenze, and from some rumors he had heard in Roma, they could have happily laid a claim on the small town of Monteriggioni, as the last member of the main branch of their family, who had ruled the town decades before, had been murdered by Cesare Borgia at the beginning of the century.

That obviously would have been stuff for Marcello, usually inheriting a dominion was stuff for boys.

_And good night to Alessio Falcone._

For the first time that night, when he had heard Borgia saying that if he had not done what he had done, probably Giovanni de' Medici would have taken him to Tiber Island, he had started thinking about how his life would have been if he had grown up in there.

Borgia had been there since he had turned five, and now he was a lesser functionary and an alchemist in Paris. _Functionary._ That was definitely a good match.

How would _he _have been if the Assassins had brought him up instead of the friars?

A voice in his head, that sounded definitely like Benvenuto, insinuated that he would have been an artist anyway, but he ignored it.

If the Assassins had brought him up, he would have never thought for a moment he had been a "son of no one".

_Do you really think Flavia and Marcello care about this?_, his voice of conscience, that had definitely taken the sound and attitude of Benvenuto's, echoed in his head again, _You're their _only_ friend!_

Apart from Little Prince Cosimo and Smart Ass Andreas.

_Well Cosimo surely wasn't the first, and you've only met Andreas yesterday_.

In any way, it was because of Borgia he would have always been nobody. It would have always been his fault, if he was not good enough for Flavia.

Sure, his conscience in some way tried to tell him that Flavia would have never cared for it (but, really, she had even _hugged_ him!), but he didn't want someone to speak ill of her because of him.

He was dead tired.

Maybe he really needed to sleep on it like Chaput had said.

One of the benches would have done.

He slowly moved towards the benches on which they had discussed before and sat on one. His right knee still ached, but he could bear it.

He had just laid down and closed his eyes when he felt with his face something that was not wood at all.

Cloth? The benches at the Court were rough, maybe even a bit dirty, and certainly cloth was the last thing that could be found on them.

Alessio sat up and touched the thing on which he had laid his face. It had to be a piece of clothing, maybe a cape.

He could see nothing in the dark, but the curiosity was too much not to try to understand what was that.

Standing up, looking for a candle, lighting it and taking it to the bench was virtually instinct. The piece of cloth effectively_ was_ a cape, dark grey with a bird of prey and a star embroidered on it.

He had already seen it somewhere else, that was for sure. He did not remember where, but that piece of cloth was not so new to him.

"Are you awake?"

Shao Jun, the young woman who had saved his life the previous month, was standing just outside the circle of light, with a smirk on her face.

"Don't ya sleep?" Alessio grumpily replied.

The female Assassin restricted herself to get close to him and examine the cape.

"What is it…?" she asked pointing at the crest.

"What, the star?" Alessio answered pointing at it.

"No, the bird… I know what is it but…"

It was the first time, not considering her accent, that Alessio really noticed how far the young woman was from her home. Even if she was at ease in everyday speech, now she was looking for the name of that particular bird of prey, she was in difficulty.

"I think it's an eagle. Or a falcon, it's more likely, eagles in crests are drawn with their wings spread, and this one seems to be perched."

Jun sat next to him and looked in his eyes.

"Falcon… like Falcone?"

"Naah. Borgia probably made it all up."

"Why?"

"Noble families have crests. And if I'm from a noble family, Andreas here can get to Masyaf and open Altair's Library!" Alessio burst out pointing at the smallest of the blanket heaps that gave away the presence of his friends.

"Who says he won't get there one day?"

Alessio turned his head and grimaced. All right, maybe Shao Jun had stayed awake, that was possible. But now Francesco was on his feet too, he could not help thinking it was all a plot!

"What's up with you? Midnight mass is at Christmas and Easter!" he burst out addressing the Mentore.

"Did you ever have trouble sleeping?" Francesco asked sitting near him. He still smelled of burnt hair. He had no need to say anything else for Alessio to understand he had seen his friends' death in his sleep.

"I'd be sleeping if I had not" Alessio answered. "Francè… what is this? Did Borgia's girlfriend make it?"

Francesco took the cape in his hands and grinned.

"No, my sister Orsa did" he said giving it back to Alessio. "Your father was in my squad when… it happened. He was the youngest, fifteen years old, and he saved my life. He was the Apprentice who raised the alert. My sister thought that sewing this cape for him would have been the very least."

Alessio forced himself to smile, then he looked at the cape again.

"Your sister invented the crest, didn't she?"

Francesco shook his head.

"Your father sketched his own family crest for her."

"Family crest? Are you kidding me?" Alessio almost jumped to his feet.

"Alessio, ssh. You'll wake up the others" Francesco reprimanded him. "Raffaele Falcone De Vigiliis, your grandfather, was an important judge in Bisceglie, a town in the _Regno di Napoli_. When Alfonso of Aragon, the Duke of Bisceglie, married Lucrezia Borgia, your grandfather thought he might have used his youngest son, your father, as a pawn to gain prestige for the family, and dumped him off to Rodrigo to make him become some clergyman. Fabio Orsini, one of our men, found him, he disguised him as an Assassin and he took him outside pretending to be taking him away, and entrusted him to Gilberto, one of the Master Assassins of the time."

"La Volpe!" Alessio instinctively spat out, almost without knowing why. "Maybe I know him… old man… dressed in orange… La Volpe… was it him?"

Francesco grinned again and put a hand on his back.

"Bravo, Alessio. Your father was twelve when he ran. The Borgias gave him for dead, killed by the young Assassin Fabio had "found", and the fact he was known as _Il Falco_ in our ranks did not help them. He restarted using his given name the year you were born. Or at least so I know."

As he spoke, he had taken again the cape from Alessio's hands, and had slowly strapped it to his shoulders.

"You may be hot-tempered, reckless and easily angered, Alessio, but you're one of us. You're part of this family, and no one of us cares where you were born, who were your parents, not even you've spent five years in a foundlings' hospital. And just to say it, I don't think Flavia will care when you'll step forward."

How the Hell could Francesco always hit the nail on the head? All right he was fifty-two and the Mentore…

"What about the people? Wouldn't they start talking?"

"That's for sure. Just imagine, the wife of Maestro Cellini's best apprentice… thin as a twig! They'll be asking themselves from what God-forsaken place she might be from…"

"Don't say such things!" Alessio replied, feeling slightly offended despite the comment was not about him. "I mean, you've seen the Spada twins, I really don't think they…"

"Their family lives in a contended country, remember?"

"Contended or not, that Laura literally enchanted Marcello in my opinion, and without having a fat butt. Really, what's the point? I love a girl, who cares about her butt or her family's lands or who's her father?"

"_This_ is the point, Alessio" Francesco resolved. "If you don't care what people could say, why should Flavia?"

Alessio thought about a possible good answer. He didn't find one.

If the comments on Flavia's build left him cold, he doubted that Flavia could give a damn if the _Capitoline Geese_ who had criticized her many times or any other cretin had found out he had been brought up at the Santo Spirito in Sassia Hospital.

Then again, there was no "Alessio di Filippo Falcone" in the records of that hospital.

Just an "Alessio Proietti" he did not feel as himself.

Not anymore.

He smiled to Francesco, who run a hand through his hair and hugged him.

"This is it. Good boy."

He felt his eyelids heavy. He fought to hold back a yawn, but it eventually slipped.

After all the turmoil of that far too long night, finally his sleepiness was winning the battle. But he did not want to conk out on Francesco's shoulder like a baby.

"I'm not getting offended, you know?" Francesco was telling him, but Alessio managed to pay attention only to every other word.

He fought back two more yawns before his eyelids definitely shut.

_And good night to Alessio Falcone for real…_

* * *

><p><em>Had it been for Alessio, probably we would have never known what had really happened that night, but Jun felt obliged to tell me what had happened the morning after, while Alessio was still sound asleep on the bench, covered by his father's cape.<em>

_He was dear for me, too, and a lot. I could not believe he did not want to step forward for such a stupid reason, even if Marcello immediately commented that the matter explained a lot indeed. He ensured me that, as soon as Alessio would have gotten up, he would have talked to him, if Francesco's speech had not been enough. All in all, if he had to do things right, he told me, being the only living male of our family he formally was the head of the household, and if he approved, Alessio would have had no excuses._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Glossary:<strong>_

_**Capitoline Geese = it's actually a pun, referring to both a legend about the Ancient Rome – a legend involving Juno's sacred geese waking up the night watchmen during an attack – and the "silly Roman geese" in Chapter 6.**_

_**Beweeg je niet, verdomme! (Dutch) = Stay still, blast it!**_

_**Stronzo (Italian) = asshole**_

_**Bene (Italian) = good**_

_**Laissez-moi faire, Madame. Je vais le faire (French) = let me do it, Madam, I'll do it.**_

_**Que Dieu te garde, mon petit (French) = God bless you, little one**_

_**Va bene (Italian) = OK**_

_**Idiota (Italian) = idiot**_

_**C'è puzza di bruciato (Italian) = I smell burnt – actually it would have been "I smell a rat", but the later joke by Alessio would have been untranslatable.**_

_**Ragazzo (Italian) = boy, kid**_

_**Ti vuole davvero bene (Italian) = he really does love you (still family love)**_

_**Geweldig (Dutch) = great**_

_**Regno di Napoli (Italian) = Kingdom of Naples – as Southern Italy was known then.**_

_**E signora (Italian) = and the lady / and his wife**_

_**Dienaar (Dutch) - **__**Servitore (Italian) = servant, rank 2 of the Order.**_

_**Il Falco (Italian) = The Falcon**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>A bit of history:<strong>_

_**The Falcone family actually was the most important family in the town of Bisceglie (that would be my hometown too) and they were also related to Byzantines. They actually occupied the highest political, civilian and religious posts from 1200 to 1600-ish, when they "passed the torch" to another family with which they also were related, the Frisari.**_

_**Names like "Filippo" and "Alessio" did appear in the family, and actually a Raffaele Falcone was a judge in the Aragon times.**_

_**In the beginning of the story, the surname I had given to Alessio was totally random. As I said, "Falcone" and "falco" mean "falcon", and to keep the avian theme in AC, I thought it just suited well to him. But last summer I remembered about the Falcone of Bisceglie (or De Vigiliis, as in the story), I made some research and it could match Alessio, so I thought... why not?**_


	18. He Who Leads

_***** HINTED SPOILERS FOR THE AC3 ENDING IN THE "CATACOMBS" SCENE *****_

_***** DON'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU! *****_

* * *

><p><em>Almost no one could have said that the night before the fourth of July, the Brotherhood of Paris, or at least the families that were part of it, had become victims of a Templar attack, for the speed with which the situation had come back to normality. The Court of Miracles was packed with kids jumping up and down, and every now and then Andreas was busy with one of their peculiar ways to thank him. Marcello had to tickle one of the most impish, who had clung to Andreas's back and showed no will to let him go.<em>

* * *

><p>Chapter 17<p>

He Who Leads

_July 4, 1527, Paris_

Also and overall Alessio had come back to be the same as ever. That morning, he had apologized to Borgia and thanked him for the return of the cape, then he had queued up for the usual double portion of bread and milk, and he had literally darted through the crowd to take a seat between Flavia and Andreas.

"Feeling better, aren't you?" was Andreas's first comment.

"You still owe me a pair of pants" Alessio replied with his mouth full.

"First ask the Templar who pierced them and then I'll see what I can do" Andreas resolved with a sneer. "Oh, and if I really have to say it, you shouldn't talk with your mouth full. What should your family think, that you've been living in the streets?"

Alessio looked scathingly at Andreas, who quickly told him Shao Jun had told Filippo's tale.

"Nothing else?" Alessio asked in a very serious tone.

"What else?" Andreas chirped with a shrug.

"_Niente_." Alessio focused on his bread and milk again. "Just, there's still something I don't understand. I know where my father was from, but… my mother? I don't even know her family or her hometown."

Marcello took the chance to intervene.

"Does it change anything, Alessio?"

Alessio raised his head and looked at him in a funny way.

"What is supposed to change?"

"_Appunto_. Does it change anything? Would it make you a different person?"

Alessio shook his head.

"Listen, I may have acted as a _stronzo_ when I had just met you" Marcello continued. "But you had to understand me. It was the first time I was far away from home. From my parents. And I still had to come to terms with the fact I would have never seen my father again. With the wisdom of hindsight, Alessio, you have been, _you are_… my best friend, even if I could not see it. If I ever want to see Flavia with a man, that would be you. I'm sure you'd be happy together. I… approve this."

As it seemed, Alessio had choked on a piece of bread, because he had a fit of cough and Flavia had to give him some pats on the back before he restarted breathing normally. Andreas seemed to be on the brink of laughter, but luckily he was holding himself back.

As soon as Alessio had caught his breath, Flavia looked in his eyes and spelled out "You're an idiot."

Alessio gulped, his bowl, still half full, forgotten on the floor.

"How could you think, even for a moment, you were not _enough_?"

"You said I'm an idiota" Alessio hinted at a grin.

"All right, all right, now chill out" Andreas intervened standing between them. "Alessio, if they see you wasting breakfast, you're dead, especially with how much you've asked for. Flavia, where do you think the Mentore is? If that man from yesterday night was Flamel, we need to find a way to lure him here."

"If what I think is true, Francesco last night was kept awake by nightmares and now he has fallen asleep again" Alessio commented as he restarted eating. "The Mentore is human, you know? He lost his girlfriend in that arson he talked about last night."

"It must be that for sure" Borgia's voice came from behind them. "The first nights I spent with him, he used to scream in his sleep. He eventually stopped screaming, but he never…"

"… really stopped having nightmares" Flavia second-guessed him. "Especially after a battle. Our first night in Mantova, last December, Alessio and I found out his sheets were somewhat wet…"

"Cold sweat" Alessio specified. "By the way, Borgia, what did I mean with bear cubs when I was a toddler?"

"The sons of the She-Bear, as Dante called them. The Orsini" Borgia bitterly sneered sitting on an empty bench. "The men behind the attack to your family."

"What?" Alessio stuttered. "Francesco told me… it had been an Orsini… to save my old man from the Bo… _oh_."

"Why, aren't Duca Alessandro and Cosimo both Medici?" Marcello intervened. "A whole family doesn't necessarily have to belong to just one faction."

"The point is, Alessio, your father had found out some young members of the Orsini family were plotting to infiltrate some soldiers of the then-Viceroy of Naples, Ramon de Cardona…"

* * *

><p><em>In brief, this guy was as Templar as Lannoy, the man who sits on his place now. He also was quite a torn in the side of our Bartolomeo d'Alviano and Niccolò.<em>

_When he found out an Assassin had actually put his eyes on him, he ordered to his Orsini longa manus to dispatch him, and that was what they did._

_But, through you and some letters underlined in a book, your father managed to leave us a message. And obviously Medici decided to avenge him._

* * *

><p><em>July 4, 1515, Roma<em>

It was dead silent in the empty house, as the three boys emptied shelves and chests. Enrico, Ezio Auditore's nephew, had wanted to go along with them, and despite at almost sixteen he still looked like a child, he did the job better than how an adult would have done it.

"_Ragazzi, guardate_!"

The very Enrico had spoken. He had a copy of Dante's Inferno in his hands, and he had just smoothed a page where someone had made a dog-ear and many letters had been underlined.

"Let me see…" Medici said taking it from his hands, not without some respect. "It should be the Nineteenth Canto."

Giovanni, too, bent on the accused page and started examining the Dantean triplets.

"Dante here made a lot of irony indeed" he commented. "_I stood even as the friar who is confessing the false assassin_… and the clergyman was the damned and he was the Assassin!"

"In all modesty, Dante was a Florentine!" Medici smirked looking up.

"And you're half. Shut your beak and search!"

"Search for what? I've already found something, just after "assassin"… _who, when he is fixed, recalls him, so that death may __b__e del__a__yed. And he cried out: "Dost thou __s__tand there already, dost thou stand there already, Bon__i__face? By many years the record __li__ed t__o__ me…"_ and blah, blah, blah, so on. Filippo left us a name. Basilio. Maybe he's one of those men who blew him away!"

Enrico checked again the triplet examined by Medici and mumbled.

"_Va bene_, we have a name. But how many men called Basilio are there in Roma? We'd need at least a family name to get anywhere."

"Wait!" Giovanni intervened. "A triplet after… _Not comprehendin__g__ wh__a__t is answ__e__red __t__hem..._ There's a G and an A and an E and a T… no, nothing, we're back at square one."

"Why?" Medici asked.

"We just have another first name. And then, no more letters" Giovanni explained. "G-A-E-T-A-N-O. We know about a Gaetano and a Basilio, but we don't know who they are."

"Try the next page!" Enrico suggested.

"_Ah Constantine, of how much ill was mother, not your conversion, but that dower, that you bestowed upon the first rich father!_" Giovanni read out loud. "I wonder if my Nonno ever read this book. Anyway, nothing here, Enrico."

Medici ran a hand through his own hair and punched the table.

"Why did he leave us names, if he hasn't given us family names?" he burst out. "All we know are two names dozens of people in Roma could have, and that Alessio kept repeating "bear cubs"!"

"Bear?"

From the look on Enrico's face, he had understood something that neither Giovanni nor Medici had managed to grasp.

He pointed on the page where the letters had been marked and read out loud.

"_And truly was I son of the She-bear, so eager to advance the cubs, that wealth above, and here myself, I pocketed_."

Medici seemed to have understood something, but for Giovanni the matter was still less comprehensible than Greek.

"You seriously pulled something out of this?" he asked his friend.

"Man, have you ever heard about the Orsini?" Medici triumphantly sneered. "Because Gaetano and Basilio Orsini are two soldiers in the Papal Army!"

_We just needed more inquiries – Medici almost subjected his guardian, who at the time was the Florentine ambassador at the Pope's court, to the third degree, and Rosa's courtesans did the remainder – to know that behind those two soldiers was no one but the Viceroy of Naples, who plotted to try to take armed men in Roma to get rid of Pope Leo X, who tolerated and supported the Assassins in the city. Medici arrived at the point of dogging on them, every single move they did. As he was related to the Pope, coming and going from Castel Sant'Angelo and making a plan to attack them was an easy job. In not even ten days, he, Enrico and I took them by surprise, on the Sant'Angelo Bridge, as they came back, not so oddly enough, dead drunk from La Rosa in Fiore._

* * *

><p><em>July 12, 1515, Roma<em>

As Medici had foreseen, the two "sons of the She-Bear" were getting home definitely late, along with two birds of their feather and visibly pissed.

It was what it seemed the best moment to strike. They had spent part of the afternoon on the beds at the Headquarters to not suffer from the lack of sleep, they had kept a distance from wine (not that Claudia let Enrico bend the elbow, and, as for Medici, Giovanni was more than convinced he had never touched booze), and the three of them were armed.

"Boys, remember, it must look like a brawl" Medici whispered toying with the hilt of his dagger. "No poison, no bullets, no bolts. It takes nothing to provoke a drunk, and we're awake enough to beat the shit out of them even without a deadly weapon."

Giovanni snorted. He had taken a poisoned blade, in case they would have needed it, but Medici was right: if they wanted to make it seem a brawl gotten out of hand, poison would have given them away. Enrico had no other weapons but a hidden blade, a knife and a pouch filled with pebbles, and even Medici had nothing but his hidden blade, dagger and what seemed a metal cestus.

"Wish I had a sword…" he was whining through his teeth.

"Take the chance and steal it" Giovanni whispered to him.

They were hidden in the sentry box on the bridge. Drugging the guards had been a kid's play, for Giovanni. Tossing in a vial of sleeping drug to make them conk out in the arms of Morpheus, getting inside with nose and mouth covered, and dispatching the remains of the vial in the river had been enough to take possession of the shack. The day after, the Swiss Guard officers would have happily resolved that those two soldiers had dozed off during their shift, and they would have been punished as an example, but that was far better than killing them.

_Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent_. They were no civilians, but they had nothing to do with the Falcone conspiracy. They did not need to die.

"_Buona sera, orsetti_. Have you spent the night with your paws in the honey?"

Medici was the first to get out of the sentry box, after lowering the scarf with which he had covered his nose and mouth. He was bound to have learned to start people off far before arriving in Roma. Giovanni and Enrico went out just after him.

"Look who's here!" the one who seemed the oldest burst out. His voice was thick for the drunkenness. "_Giovannino_! Get lost, little snot!"

Medici's face slightly flushed, but the Florentine apprentice did not bat an eye.

"The toll first, bear cub" he said, raising his hand in a challenging gesture.

"You want a toll, huh?" the man sneered. "Heard it, Basilio? He asked us for a toll…"

The other Orsini, Basilio with no doubt, approached Medici and tried to push him to the ground. Medici raised his hand, apparently to protect himself, and hit Basilio's chest with the palm.

Blood oozed out of the spot he had hit. Basilio Orsini fell on his knees, spat blood and collapsed on the ground.

"_Requiescat in pace_, you beast!" Medici roared. "Enrico, NOW!"

Drunken as he might have been, Gaetano Orsini was a Templar for sure, seeing that he had slurred something that sounded like "Assassino!", but his reflexes were visibly diminished, because the stone tossed by Enrico hit him right in the face, staining his hair and cheeks with blood.

The Orsini's men backed off and ran in two different directions, but Gaetano was still there, reeling on the spot, stunned by the hit on his head. When he took a hand away from his forehead, Giovanni noticed that one of his eyes had been reduced to a hole oozing blood and whiteish goo.

"_Jeepers creepers_…" Enrico stuttered from behind him. He seemed on the edge of bringing up.

"Let's get this done, now!" Medici burst out drawing his dagger. "Donati, stop being such a sissy! Your girl cousin is braver than you!"

Gaetano Orsini was growing paler, but he was walking forward, likely to try and get rid of the three boys, in a booze-induced omnipotence feeling.

Medici was ready to fight back, his hidden blade in a hand and his dagger in the other. Enrico was behind him, but he still was visibly scared the shit out of himself.

Orsini looked like a corpse risen from a battlefield, with his staggering pace and blood oozing from his head, but Giovanni did not move, and extracted his own hidden blade.

"_What would you do if someone said they would hurt your family?"_

"_I would hit bad people with a sword!"_

Twelve years had passed since his mother had asked him that question. Funny how he was almost in the very place the conversation had taken place, despite now he belonged to another family, another Creed, another life.

He waited for the Templar to be at the right distance, dodged his sword, and, with a move learned after years of practice with Francesco, he cut his throat.

"This is for Filippo Falcone,_ bastardo_!" he snarled addressing the now dead body. "_Requiescat in pace._"

* * *

><p><em>Our victory did not last long. The Orsini's hired thugs, in a way or another, made sure news of that arrived to Jacopo Salviati's ears, and despite they had not exactly understood what had happened, Salviati only took a moment to put the pieces together. He made a series of attempts to, let's say, get his ward clean, and he would have made it…<em>

* * *

><p>"… if someone in Firenze had not gone looking for Medici to give him the last push forward… and a sword."<p>

Marcello instinctively took a hand to the hilt of his sword.

"_Già_…"

He missed Vanni. Especially now he was far away from home, in the deepest corners of his mind, he somehow hoped his first mentor was waiting for him in Firenze.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. He had to put his feet on the ground.

He could no longer allow himself to daydream like a child. He would have turned thirteen in months.

And anyway, there still was someone waiting for him.

There still was Cosimo.

And also…

"Oh, crap!"

"What's up?" Flavia was the first to turn.

"I haven't written to Laura! She's going to tear me apart when we come back!"

"See that?" Alessio exclaimed crossing his arms. "What did I tell you all? Beautiful Lauretta has wrapped him around her little finger!"

* * *

><p><em>Marcello obviously took it well, even if I think Alessio had foreseen it, but Francesco, who had gotten up while Alessio was busy joking, was not of the opinion to spend the day laughing, and ordered him to find the training dummies in a nearby building and practice.<em>

_He did not need to give orders to me or Marcello, as soon as Alessio turned his heels we went after him, I because I knew that Francesco wasn't exactly the most friendly person in the world after a sleepless night, and Marcello because anyway since he had started his apprenticeship he never spent a day without practicing something._

* * *

><p>The training room was already occupied by some Apprentices, sparring with wooden swords or climbing the walls. There were many dummies stacked in a corner, old mattresses on the ground and a rack with many kinds of weapons, varying from the smaller wooden ones for the youngest recruits, to full-sized wooden ones for older apprentices, and blunted iron weapons for the more skilled.<p>

Alessio had spotted and picked up a dummy, had stuck it into a hole in the floor, and had started hitting it with his fists, Marcello had gone to the racks and had picked a wooden sword similar to his own, to start trying parrying and waiting stances, while Andreas was looking at him spellbound.

"You can't use a sword, can you?" Marcello asked him with a grin.

Andreas shook his head.

"Never had to fight" he explained.

"Come on, pick up one, I'll show you something."

Flavia had started loading her hidden bolt and looking for targets when a familiar voice distracted her.

"And you think you could hurt someone like that?"

Jun had entered the hall and had spotted Alessio, who was looking puzzled at her.

"Punches _do_ hurt, I suppose" he told the older Assassin.

Jun gestured him to stand back and approached the dummy, stood in what seemed a guard stance, and before Alessio could even whistle, she knocked the dummy down with a pair of kicks.

Alessio was visibly amazed, but he was determined not to show it, because he hinted at a grin and said it would have been better if kicks had actually been loaded by something like steel on boots.

Jun did not turn a hair, raised a foot and flexed her ankle. A hidden blade sprung out of her sole.

"_Va bene, va bene_, you win" Alessio snorted picking up the dummy. Jun knelt in turn and helped him straightening it up.

"I can teach you something, if you want me to."

As Jun taught Alessio some guard stances, Flavia found the targets and shot some bolts, then she practiced throwing knives and had a few tries with swords. There were other girls, all apparently older than her, and easily managed to stand her ground. When one of them shook her hand asking for her name, Flavia felt pretty annoyed by the start she gave at her answer, and she immediately added that any ability she had was not because of blood but because of training.

She came back to Jun and Alessio, who, as it seemed, were taking a break. Marcello instead had not stopped yet, had left the wooden sword for a blunt iron one, and was slashing at a dummy while Andreas watched from a bench.

"He has changed" Jun commented following him with her eyes.

"It's been three years" Flavia answered getting close to her. "He's no longer the child you met in Fiesole. He poisoned a Templar leader, he saved me from a traitor… he even stood by his mentor's side until he was gone…"

"His master has _forsaken_ him?" Jun asked, astonished.

"He passed away. He died" Alessio sadly explained. "And while he was sick, Marcello didn' leave him a moment alone. He's gone through a lot, y' know."

Jun grinned.

"He has his father's looks and voice. But now he speaks and moves like another person" she said.

Alessio came closer to Flavia, nodded and grinned.

"Clearly Giovanni dalle Bande Nere left something behind"

"You discovered hot water!" Flavia replied.

"When did it happen?" Jun asked.

"Last year" Flavia explained. "At the beginning of the winter. Giovanni was hit by a cannon, and his wound got badly infected. They tried to save him cutting off his leg, but it was useless. For Marcello, he was like an older brother, when he found out he was doomed… it was like if he had lost a part of himself."

Jun folded her arms and turned her eyes towards Marcello. He had left the sword and was busy chatting happily with Andreas.

"He's strong. Stronger than this. He'll make it" she resolved with a grin. "Who doesn't make it shuts himself away. Marcello instead… he already has a friend."

Alessio snorted.

"Va bene, va bene" he said with a shrug. "But is it possible every new friend of his must twist my fucking ba…?"

Flavia did not have the time to deliver a smack to his face when a loud bang coming from the entrance made everyone turn and Alessio shut his trap.

The elder from the previous night had entered the room, slamming the door in the attempt to fling it open. He had terror painted on his face.

"_A l'aide! Aidez-moi... ma femme!_"

Andreas and Marcello had quickly risen from the bench, and the former had approached the man.

"… You? What are you doing here?" Marcello burst out.

The man turned to Andreas and Marcello and bitterly sneered.

"All the years spent hiding from you lot, and in the end I go as far as welcoming you in my home!" he said shaking his head. "May I know your names, at least?"

"Andreas Van Wesel junior."

"Marcello Auditore."

"Strangers, huh? I guess this could explain something. Nice to meet you. Nicolas Flamel."

* * *

><p><em>In brief, the Assassins had not been the only faction with a wounded man in their ranks, and we should have remembered that.<em>

_Giambattista Ariosto had been in the road where his pack had attacked us, pretending to be a lame war veteran asking for charity. It's useless to say that, despite they could recognize an Assassin _faking_ an infirmity, Flamel and his wife were not aware that the _definitely crippled_ young man posing as a war veteran was a downright Templar._

_Madame Flamel had gone out in the road to cure his leg, and after letting himself be healed, Giambattista had pointed a gun to her head, he had taken her away, and had charged a thug to leave a message for Nicolas._

_His wife for the Book and the Stone. The following day, at sunrise, in the Cemetiere des Innocents._

* * *

><p>"Don't give it to them. No matter how much they can threaten you, they're not stupid. They won't kill your wife, not if they don't want to lose the only way they have to get to the Stone. Besides, if it fell in their hands…" Borgia had commenced.<p>

They were having a secret assembly in Madame Merle's rooms, but Andreas, who knew the place like his right hand, had led them to a disused minor entrance from which they could eavesdrop.

Alessio had found himself to change his mind about that smart ass, but he couldn't wait to go back home anyway to get him out of his way. All in all it was his fault if his trousers were in shambles.

"If it fell in their hands… _what_?"

That was Francesco.

"Giovanni, tell me what you know!"

"There's something more than meets the eye in this" Flavia, crouched between Alessio and Marcello, whispered. "Francesco doesn't raise his voice if the stakes aren't so high."

From a noise of feet on the floor, Alessio supposed Francesco had stood up. Borgia would have squealed in no time.

Not that the thing made him displeasure, if he was really hiding something to the Brotherhood…

"I can answer to this" Flamel intervened. "If used in a certain way, the Stone can bring back those who have… crossed the threshold."

Marcello gasped, and Alessio hurried to put a hand on his mouth.

The Stone in his hands… Alessio could imagine too well what could have meant. Marcello would have had a father and a mentor again. And that Cosimo brat would have been pulled out of the Brotherhood.

But if it had fallen in Templar hands…

_Frundsberg._

_Bourbon._

_Or worse… Cesare Borgia!_

The Templar could have recreated a whole legion of leaders with which they could have happily conquered the whole Earth!

As Alessio kept pressing his hand on Marcello's mouth to keep him from giving the four of them away, Francesco had restarted speaking, displaying his same worries, if not even more.

Francesco had been in the war, he knew what Templars had been able to do. For sure, the bare thought of certain monsters walking on Earth again made every inch of his flesh creep.

But if that Stone had come in Assassin hands… how many families could have come back together?

_My Mamma and Papà_, was the nail that had stuck in Alessio's mind, with no way of pulling it out.

That Stone was both a blessing and a curse. Now Alessio understood why Flamel had stayed alive and hidden from the whole world, despite he kept using it to save lives. He was keeping it safe.

"I can help you, Messere" Borgia was saying. "Seven years ago, I managed to create, along with another Brother, another Stone…"

Alessio could hear the noise of someone rummaging, then Flamel spoke again.

"You won't do nothing but gold with that. I still have the part of the Book which explains how to heal."

"And I have a copy of that, absolutely useless to use the Stone" Borgia continued. "But if that copy deceived even me for a moment, and I've studied Alchemy, do you think it would not deceive a soldier like La Motte? One of our Apprentices last month formulated a plan to lure the Templars in a trap. You go into that graveyard and give the Templars the fakes. We'll lie in wait, and when they'll take the bait, we'll strike."

"What if they catch onto it?" Flamel asked.

"We'll be there for that" Madame Merle resolved. "Let's go now, we have to choose the men for the mission."

There was a noise of steps, then…

"Francesco, wait!" Jun exclaimed.

Instinctively, Alessio, Marcello, Flavia and Andreas backed off from the door from which they were eavesdropping. A moment later, from the door came the sound of metal against wood, and before anyone could say "busted", the door burst open.

In the other room, Jun had a rope in her hands, and another end was stuck to the door. Alessio had never seen anything like that, but it was more than obvious there was a knife or a dart or something like that at the end of the rope stuck in the door.

"_Sgamati_" Marcello spoke out loud what everyone was thinking for sure.

On the other side of the room, Francesco rolled his eyes.

"Don't you kids ever know when it's time to keep still? This _is no game_, for goodness sake!"

"Do you really think we're playing, Francè?" Alessio replied, and surprisingly enough, Andreas sided him.

"I know that graveyard like the back of my hand! I can help you!"

"I don't want to know what you do in there" Alessio mumbled hinting at a grin at the lad.

Francesco shook his head and took a hand to his forehead.

"_Ragazzi_, I brought you here to keep you away from the fight, surely not to lead you into another! La Motte does not joke… you don't even know what he's able to do."

"Frundsberg didn't joke either, and it took a twelve-year-old to make him stone-dead" Alessio replied.

"At what cost?" Francesco resolved.

In the corner of his eye, Alessio saw Marcello had just flinched. For how long the Battle of Governolo would have been his weak spot?

"They can't bring cannons in a city!" he replied. "And they're not supported by any ruler… are they? Getting an army or firearms won't be easy for them, I've also heard that La Motte has been in deep water since he was taken hostage twice in Barletta…"

"Being held hostage twice didn't stop him from exterminating my whole team apart from me and your father, do you remember?"

"He had been helped by Cesare Borgia! And… he's an old geezer!"

"Does this change anything?" Jun asked putting her hands on her hips. "You too, you're… you're children!"

"Does this _change anything_?" Andreas stepped forward, as red as a beetroot. "We're Apprentices! Even an Apprentice can make a difference! How can we learn if we are set aside?"

Just like the mention of the Battle of Governolo had made Marcello flinch and being called a child had made Andreas see red, Andreas's words had surely hit Jun in some way.

She had started moving her look from Andreas, to Marcello, to Flavia, then she looked at Francesco.

"They are right."

Francesco sighed and shook his head again.

"_Va bene_. But you'll stay behind the lines. And the first of you who defies an order will be demoted to _Recluta_ even before he can apologize!"

* * *

><p><em>Francesco was enraged to say the least, but Jun looked most obstinate about it. She told me just after my father had tried to send her away, in that fall of three years ago. And then, she had had to prove her point to obtain teachings before heading back home.<em>

_Alessio and I were assigned to Jun's very group, while Marcello and Andreas to Borgia's. Andreas was given a harquebus and a dagger, along with a quick training on how to use them._

_The plan was to form a circle in the graveyard, with a number of Assassin sufficient to face and dispatch about twenty Templars._

_Alessio still had Benvenuto's gun, and I had been given an open fight crossbow. We still hoped in the surprise element of Jun and her men's weapons, especially that kind of rope dart that only we kids and Francesco had seen._

_We were hidden in every possible place. Bushes, mausoleums, even behind tombstones and corners._

_I lost sight of Marcello and Andreas, who were stationed in one of the oldest mausoleums, almost immediately. I found out only after the battle the floor had caved in beneath their feet._

* * *

><p><em>July 5, 1527, Paris, Cemetiere des Innocents<em>

Marcello got to his feet and shook his head. A cloud of dust had raised around him and Andreas, and the sting he felt in his right ankle surely meant nothing good. He had gotten a strain at the very least.

"Andreas!" he called, keeping his voice low to prevent the Templars above from hearing them. "Are you all right?"

Andreas emerged not so far away, slapping the dust off his hair and clothes. He had a sleeve torn at the height of his elbow, where as it seemed some stone had opened a flesh wound.

"I am" he panted. "Nothing broken, at least. You?"

"I think I've sprained my ankle" Marcello mumbled with a grimace.

Andreas gestured him to sit down and removed his boot, giving a quick look and examining the injured spot.

"It hasn't swollen. It's not as bad as it seems, you can walk" he said giving him the boot back. "We need to find a way out, anyway. We could go back the way we came down, but even if we both know how to fall, that hole might cave in again, and then we'd be in deep shit."

"_Ma no, guarda_!" Marcello replied standing up.

"_Wat_?" Andreas asked, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing" Marcello answered. "It's just too obvious. We need to find another way out."

His ankle still hurt, but he could bear it. Then again, he would have never found a wet rag to put on it if they hadn't gotten out of there.

"Do you know what place is this?" he asked Andreas.

"I've heard about it. Some call it catacombs, but they're just old galleries, they used to dig up stone. There must be other exits for sure."

Marcello picked up a piece of the rotten beams and weighed it in his hand.

"Pass me your rag, Andreas. Better that than our clothes."

Andreas seized the all-present filthy rag from his belt and tossed it to Marcello.

"Even if, seeing the state of my shirt…"

"You can always make someone mend it, you don't even know how many times I had to mend my clothes when I was in the Bande" Marcello resolved wrapping the rag at one end of the piece of wood and looking for his tinderbox in one of his pouches.

The torch that came out of that effort maybe would have never been a masterpiece, but it would have made some light, and that was what counted.

They had walked at least for some minutes when Marcello heard a voice.

"Andreas… did you hear it too?"

"_Wat_?" Andreas replied.

"We are not alone" Marcello said making some steps forward and illuminating in front of him with the torch. "Who are you? _Qui va là_? Show yourself!"

A vaguely human figure stood out before them. He was covered by an armor, had dark curls and the lower side of his face covered by beard. He carried a spear in his hand, with a kind of plant, maybe laurel, tied to its tip.

He seemed young and old ages at the same time. Even before he could approach them, Marcello realized who was facing.

He was one of _them_. Those Who Came Before.

"You're walking on a pathway. A pathway you do not see" the being addressed Marcello and Andreas. "Once I was known as He Who Walks. He Who Leads. People called me Mavors and Marpiter…"

"Mars…" Marcello spelled out, wide-eyed.

"You mean _the_ Mars? Ares? God of War, Father of Romulus?" Andreas stuttered, grabbing Marcello's sleeve and moving closer to him. "_Goh_!"

"Listen, child. A danger awaits your kind. A Chosen One will rise to save your world…"

"You mean Desmond?" Marcello turned up his nose. "I've already heard this story. My father… he met him, in Masyaf…"

"_Listen_, now. Thousands and thousands of years ago, a war run through the whole planet. I turned my back to my race and sided with the children I fathered. I paid the cost of it when my own mother captured me and locked me in a vault. And now my mother is seeking revenge. She wants to avenge my father, to avenge my lost allegiance, and she will do it making you pay the price. She will kill the Chosen One. She will use him to break her chains."

Andreas clutched Marcello's robe and looked at Mars.

"Chosen One… your mother… break her chains… why are you telling us this? What could we possibly do? _What are we going to do_?"

His childish voice gave the impression of a very small boy desperate in front of an unavoidable tragedy.

"Two men are watching through your eyes" Mars answered. "One of them has been a companion of the Chosen One for long. The other is part of his family, but he ignores it. They will have to act when my mother will strike. Marcello, you will be given a gift. Use it well, and take it to me when you will no longer need it. John, I'm talking to you now. Meet me in the place where I was known as the patron. Before the end. Walk with me all the way to the Temple. Save the Chosen One… before it's too late."

Mars vanished again in the dark, leaving Marcello and Andreas alone.

"… John?" was Andreas's first comment. "Who is John? And… that Desmond man, who is he?"

"I'll explain later" Marcello panted. He would have never expected he would have met another member of the First Civilization.

What gift was he supposed to receive, and overall from who? And how would have he found Mars, at that point?

"We must find a way out. And quickly."

* * *

><p><em>We didn't even have the time to notice they were gone. Nicolas Flamel had entered the graveyard, and the Templars, too, along with Madame Flamel, had shown themselves.<em>

_I could not understand every word they said – after all, I was only fourteen, and French was not the only foreign language Marcello and I had learned, and surely not the one in which we had put the most effort – but I immediately understood which Templar was La Motte, and he was saying something to Flamel that sounded like how he was wise enough to understand what was the right choice._

_The exchange took place._

_Flamel and his wife got away._

_It was then Francesco signaled to attack._

* * *

><p>From behind gravestones, from bushes, from the rooftops of some of the mausoleums, a storm of arrows, bolts and bullets rained on the Templars. Flavia herself aimed at the enemy closest to her and murmured a "rest in peace" when the soldier fell victim of her crossbow.<p>

The Assassins with melee weapons quickly left their hideouts and started attacking the survivors. Luckily, they had the advantage of numbers.

After two captures and without the help of the Borgia, La Motte could have been an eminent Templar anyway, but his rank did not come too useful to buy soldiers.

The Assassins did not believe in buying approval.

Flavia quickly reloaded and sent another bolt towards the Templar lines. Still some more time, and she would have had to take to the air or use blades. It would have been too hazardous, shooting from that position with Brothers and Sisters so close to the enemy.

Alessio had climbed on a mausoleum and lied there on his stomach, loading the gun and unloading it on any Templar soldier not busy fighting, Borgia had pulled out his two hidden blades and had engaged in a fight the only brute in the Marquis's lines, and Chaput, visibly sober for once, smashed hands and skulls with a hammer.

In the Templar lines, La Motte had drawn his sabre and had been on the point of attacking Flamel when Francesco's sword had blocked his way.

"No! Not this time!" Francesco bellowed, once again facing his nemesis.

Flavia's attention was distracted by a scream. Until shortly before, Chaput had been engaged in a fight with Giambattista Ariosto, but after a flesh wound he had collapsed to the ground, his face deadly pale.

She had not been the only one to put the pieces together and understand Giambattista had soaked his blade in a deadly poison again. Jun, who had just gotten rid of her opponent cutting his throat with the blade in her boot, seized the rope dart from her belt and tossed it towards Giambattista.

The dart got stuck in the Templar's back with a squishy, sickening sound. The traitor dropped his dagger and fell to his knees, with a hand instinctively reaching out to extract the sharp instrument in his flesh. His clothes were soaked in blood before Jun could pull the rope and drag him near her.

"You will not hurt anyone again, you traitor" she snarled kneeling over him.

Flavia quickly got out of the bush and joined Jun.

"Don't the Assassins harm people?" Giambattista replied, his voice growing fainter. "You talk about brotherhood, and peace, and laying foundations for a better world. I've been hearing this old story for years. You do nothing but let people slaughter each other. Frenchmen against Germans. Catholics against Lutherans. You haven't done _anything_ to save this world!"

"People have to understand" Jun replied. "You Templars never will respect their own choices. Every person is unique, and you… you do not respect this!"

"Ideas cannot be forced, Giambattista. You cannot change something overnight" Flavia added. "There are right paths, and easy paths. You chose the easy path… and look at you now."

Under the man's back, a pool of blood was expanding. The dart was bound to have pierced a vein.

"Where… do you think… the one you call right… will take you?" the traitor gasped. "You're… in the battlefield… just like I am…"

Flavia thought about an answer, but it never came, even though Giambattista's eyes were still on her. He was unnaturally still, though, and the pool of blood had reached Flavia's boots.

So it was done.

The man who with his betrayal had sentenced to death Jun's mentor, Orazio Baglioni's squad, Giovanni dalle Bande Nere and maybe, indirectly, Papà… was _dead_.

So why Flavia was not satisfied at all?

The men in the Templars' pay had been surrounded, some of them, including three or four soldiers of Cathay Jun had pursued, laid dead on the ground, other had given up the fights, and others had been captured.

Only two men were still fighting.

In the middle of the churchyard, sabre versus sword, La Motte and Francesco were still engaged in a fight to the death.

Francesco was visibly younger and more fit, compared to the Templar, who judging by the face and hair was about ten years older, but La Motte was clearly the best swordsman.

Other Assassins had started springing to the Mentore's aid, many, including Alessio, had already pointed their weapons at the Marquis, but Borgia, in the front lines, raised a hand to stop them.

"Do not intervene!" he bellowed. "This is Mentore Vecellio's battle! Do not intervene!"

They both had bleeding wounds in several body parts, but neither of the two seemed willing to give up. Especially Francesco. Flavia had never seen him so furious.

He was standing in front of the man who had deprived him of his team… of what had been a family for him. The man who had ordered the death of his Brothers and of the woman he loved like any child would have ordered a dog to fetch a stick.

Francesco's rage gave him the upper hand. What had given strength to his blows and will to keep fighting kept him on his feet as La Motte's stamina faded.

The Frenchman fell to his knees, the hand holding the sabre abruptly opened.

It was in that moment Flavia noticed tears had started streaming down Francesco's face.

"He won…" Alessio murmured, coming to Flavia's side and putting a hand on her shoulder.

"_Tranchez-lui la gorge_!" one of the oldest Apprentices yelled. "_Tuez ce salaud_!"

Francesco stayed still and quiet for a moment, looking in his vanquished enemy's eyes.

Then he stuck his sword in the ground.

"Look at yourself, Charles" he panted. "Was this what you wanted?"

He let out a sob.

"Go away, if you're a man. Go away!" he snarled. "Go back to the place you call home and reflect on what you want to do with the remainder of your life, take the bush, or go to the New World! I won't kill a defenseless enemy. I won't stoop so low as this."

Even without him saying it out loud, Flavia realized her master had implied a "like you did twenty-four years ago".

Francesco turned, without picking up his sword.

"We're going" he announced, starting to get away.

In an almost desperate act, La Motte stood up and grabbed Francesco's sword.

Someone screamed. Others raised their weapons or sprang forward.

The noise was enough to make Francesco turn and notice his enemy on his feet. Without much time to think, as the Marquis approached him, the Mentor extended his hidden blades, parried a thrust with his bracer and slit La Motte's throat.

Charles de La Motte fell to the ground for the last time, and Francesco stood, dumbfounded, with a new gash on the arm with which he had parried, but winner one more time.

"You've killed me today" La Motte gasped with his last breath. "But one day, your sense of honor and fair play will take _you_ to the grave."

"What you call my sense of honor and fair play took me to see this day, and it is what I am" Francesco replied. "_You_ signed your own death sentence trying to kill who spared you. You did not want to live in peace… now _rest _in peace."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Niente (ITALIAN)= nothing<strong>_

_**Appunto (ITALIAN)= that's the point**_

_**Stronzo (ITALIAN)= turd, asshole, prick**_

_**Ragazzi, guardate (ITALIAN) = guys, look**_

_**Va bene (ITALIAN) = OK**_

_**Nonno (ITALIAN) = grandpa. He's obviously talking about Rodrigo.**_

_**Buona sera, orsetti (ITALIAN) = good evening, little bears**_

_**Già (ITALIAN) = yeah, indeed**_

_**A l'aide! Aidez-moi... ma femme! (FRENCH) = Help! Help me… my wife!**_

_**Ragazzi (ITALIAN) = kids**_

_**Recluta (ITALIAN) = recruit, Rank 1… NOVICE.**_

_**Wat? **__**(DUTCH) = What?**_

_**Qui va là? **__**(FRENCH) = who goes there? (or at least Marcello is trying to mean this – I made it and didn't let anyone do a grammar check so **__**if**__** there's a mistake, it's a genuine Italian-speaker mistake. Marcello always says he speaks Turkish far better than French, remember?)**_

_**Goh (DUTCH) = gee**_

_**Tranchez-lui la gorge! **__**Tuez ce salaud! (FRENCH) = Cut his throat! Kill the bastard!**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>I hope you liked it!<strong>_

_**So, yeah, Francesco got his revenge. The evil traitor died - I actually planned first to get him Assassinated by Borgia, for the law of retaliation, but then I thought it would have been better if Jun had done it, as Borgia has still to deal with his grief. And Jun HAS the rope dart - AC Wiki tells she invented it.**_

_**I haven't played AC3 yet, but some friends of mine, one of which is one of the two girls I call "the godmothers of the story" (You are the other one, Aeon Hawk) have explained me what happens in the end so I could make minor edits (Mars wasn't supposed to appear in the original draft, even if the Philosopher's Stone was one of my very first ideas) so I wouldn't have to delete the prologue and all the frame story. I mean, I'm pretty sure I've heard *coff coff* Will Zona *coff coff* you actually like the Desmond parts. So it was either deleting them or introducing Mars.**_

_**It will NOT influence the main plot too much, it's just a minor adaptation. The story will end how I had wanted it at the beginning.**_

_**Also thanks to Polyne55 and LadyVe again for the French and Dutch. **_


	19. Turning Pages

_**Okay, now, for whoever hasn't played AC3 yet, the spoiler is EXPLICIT NOW, at least in the frame story set in 2013.**  
><em>

_**Funny how I'm uploading this today, November 30th, the day Vanni died.**_

_**Now, swords up for him, will you?**_

* * *

><p><em>January 6, 2013, Assassin Headquarters<em>

"So, where have you arrived?"

"Go to Hell, Shaun."

Desmond set the so-called book aside and gave a dirty look to the British historian, who restricted himself to folding his arms and looking down on him like he had always done.

"Did you get out of the wrong side of the bed?"

"No, I just wanted to give you a taste of your own medicine." Desmond sneered and stood up.

"Leave medicines to Abstergo. Instead… at what point you are?"

"Where do you want me to arrive?"

How was it possible that asshole kept the same façade with him even though they had known each other for months?

"Marcello and Vesalius should…"

"Vesalius? Who is he?"

"The founder of _anatomy as we know it_, Donkey Desmond Miles!"

He got the usual tablet out of a bag and opened the usual search engine. Desmond found himself in front of the portrait of an auburn-haired man, wearing the dark clothes of who, according to what was left of Ezio's memories, worked as a professor in an university, a ludicrous beard and the ears definitely too big compared to the head.

"I don't think Marcello ever met someone corresponding to that description. Then again, I don't know. Maybe if you can show me a recording…"

"Desmond…"

"Seriously, Shaun, I've never read Vesalius mentioned anywhere! And I don't think Flavia has ever talked about medicine leading lights!"

"Desmond, what was the name of the astronomer Ezio saved from the Inquisition?"

"What's that got to do with it?"

"The name, Desmond."

Desmond sighed and looked defiantly in Shaun's eyes.

"Copernicus. Happy now?"

Shaun definitely wasn't, as it seemed.

"His real name, Desmond, was Mikolaj Kopernik. Scholars at that time took Latin names. So, Mikolaj Kopernik became Nicolaus Copernicus. And Andreas Van Wesel became _Andreas Vesalius_."

"Shorty Andreas?"

"Are you acting stupid on purpose or what? The point is, Desmond, have you arrived at the battle in the graveyard?"

"If you call that a battle…"

"Okay. Call it whatever you want, but tonight I want you in the Animus room, at half past eight, and bring the book. There are things we need to discuss urgently."

He left the room.

"Oh, yeah, thank you Shaun, don't explain anything, you're _too_ kind, Shaun, go and mind your own bloody business, Shaun!" Desmond spoke to the closed door. "Fuck you!"

For the first time since he had started reading those old memories, Desmond was more than certain they had something to do with him.

Okay, Flavia was in his ancestors' number anyway, and he got that. Alessio Falcone was more than likely to be, too.

But all that stuff about Mars's mother… about the fact he was in danger… and a descendant of Marcello had to save him?

_Let's reconnect the dots, Desmond. Two weeks ago. The Great Temple. Juno. I'm not dead. Yet I should have died. Why am I alive?_

He had not too many memories of what had happened after he had… well, _saved the world_. He only remembered laying his hand on the Eye, then an excruciating pain had come, and Juno's voice thanking him for having played his part…

The first thing he remembered after that was a small room lit by artificial light, a bed, baggy sleepwear, his father snoring in a chair and the date "Dec 25" on a wall clock.

It had been Mars's bright idea to save his ass?

Shaun had not wanted to tell him anything, and Desmond had no intention at all to wait until the evening for answers. He doubted he would have had them going around and asking. The simple fact he had not even seen his father anymore since Boxing Day, for a change, was a clear signal the Order had tough nuts to crack.

He was alone, on his own, once more.

He, and the book.

He might as well have kept reading.

* * *

><p>Chapter 18<p>

Turning Pages

_We found Marcello and Andreas at the Court, both looking beat-up but much less than other Assassins who had fought. The surgeon of the Court had already taken care of them, Marcello was sitting on a mattress with a bandaged foot and Andreas had a dozen of stitches in his left arm._

_They looked dead tired, and I totally understood them. Even if they had stayed away from the battle, surviving a fall in the galleries with a sprained ankle and a gash in the arm, and then finding the exit on their own and going back to the Headquarters had not been easy at all._

* * *

><p><em>July 5, 1527, Paris, Court of Miracles<em>

"… so Flamel went back home?" Marcello asked.

"Sì, but he said he would have come back here tomorrow" Alessio answered. "As it seems he wants to discuss something important with the Brotherhood."

"Huh, that's for sure. Now the Assassins know about the Stone, he'll want to hush everything up in some way" Andreas commented. "We may have good intentions, but… a stone bringing back the dead, think about it, how many people would want it? I would. Mentore Francesco could have his lady back. Marcello would get back his master. Alessio his parents. And we could bring back the Great Masters… like the Prophet for example, I never remember his name…"

Flavia and Marcello both visibly blushed, but stayed silent.

"But I don't think you have met him. He left the Order the year before I was born and no one ever saw him after, as far as I know. When I was made a Recruit last year, he already was no more. If I only could remember the name…"

Alessio had to hold back laughter. It seemed incredible that smart ass remembered everything he had to do to cure a wound, yet he forgot something so trivial as names and people.

"Ignore it, I don't think you'll be asked that at the university" he told Andreas after suppressing the laugh.

The Fleming was up to insist, but in that very moment the boy who had feigned the sacred disease chewing soap entered the room with what seemed a pack of letters in his hands.

"Andreas, you got a letter from your mother" he announced pulling a piece of paper out of the stack.

"Thanks, Bertrand" Andreas said reaching out for the letter. Bertrand waved it twice out of his reach before noticing the kid's left arm was bandaged and in a sling, and laying it unceremoniously on his lap.

"Now you could use a miracle, huh?" he commented. "It was just the baptism of fire. It'll pass. You three… do you know where's Mentore Vecellio? I have a letter for him from a certain… Liberata, I think the name is."

"I think the surgeon is taking care of him" Marcello answered. "Try to wait for a while, or give the letter to Madame Merle and tell her for who it is."

Bertrand nodded and walked towards Madame Merle's quarters, as Alessio scratched the few hair he was starting to grow under his nose.

"Why should Liberata write to Francesco?"

"Who's Liberata?" Andreas looked up from his letter.

"Your memory really sucks!" Alessio rolled his eyes.

"And you… you eat like a pig!"

"Ya have ears bigger than your head!" Alessio got to his feet and smirked.

"And your hair looks like a haystack!" Andreas stood up in turn. He, too, seemed to be enjoying it.

"Mummy's boy!"

"Stuffed shirt!"

"Shorty!"

"Donkey!"

"Smart Ass!"

Andreas curled up his lip, bared his front teeth, and started mimicking a mouse.

"Squeak – squeak – squeak!"

"You're quite the pitiful mouse, Andreas!"

"Marcello Auditore?"

Bertrand was back, with empty hands and a serious face.

Marcello propped himself up on his left foot and stood up, leaning towards the left not to put too much weight on his injured ankle.

"Mentore Vecellio has asked for you" Bertrand explained.

"Why him?" Alessio asked.

"I don't know, all right? He just said he had to speak in private to him."

Marcello grinned, shrugged and followed Bertrand.

"I'll be right back!"

As Marcello limped away and left the room, Alessio could not help thinking something was wrong.

Surely Francesco, with the wounds he had suffered at the hands of La Motte, had remained confined in bed, and if he had already read the letter, it was bound to be something urgent.

And if he had sent for Marcello… _no_. It could not be. Not again.

"Flavia" he announced. "I have a bad feeling about this."

* * *

><p><em>Liberata's letter was dated June 21.<em>

_Zio Niccolò had left us. An illness had taken him away._

_We could not believe it had happened. Not again. And this time, it was nothing someone could have prevented._

_I feared Marcello would have broken down. He didn't._

_But for him, it was a very hard blow._

* * *

><p><em>July 6, 1527, Paris, Court of Miracles<em>

As soon as the surgeon had turned, Francesco had left the bed and started packing up.

His intentions were more than clear: coming back to Italia as soon as possible.

Borgia had not been happy at all about it, and if possible he had become even more absent and evasive.

Madame Merle had protested, saying that Francesco was absolutely in no condition to travel.

But probably the person who took it the worst was Andreas, who had burst into tears on Marcello's shoulder hearing the news.

Marcello had not known what to tell him.

Of course, spending some time with him in those days had just been great, but he had started missing home, and even those scraps of satisfaction from the adventure in the galleries and the appearance of Mars now looked so pointless compared to the question in front of him.

_What now?_

He doubted there had been other Apprentices so unfortunate to lose two masters in less than a year. Of course, there was always Borgia, but Marcello doubted his apprenticeship under him would have been pleasant.

Vanni had made his presence felt, he had been more a guide in life than in the Order. Zio Niccolò had been as good as family. Borgia instead was offish and elusive with him, and did not seem too sincere either.

Anything Vanni had thought about him, he had been wrong.

"Marcello?"

Jun was near the main door, with the two apprentices and a satchel on her back.

"Are you already leaving?" Marcello asked approaching them.

"Our job is done" Jun explained. "The soldiers had to be stopped before they arrived to the Stone. And they have been stopped. Now… we're needed, at home."

"I hoped you would wait for us to leave, too." Marcello forced a grin, but that was one too many piece of bad news. "Have you said goodbye to Flavia and the others?"

Jun nodded.

"She's worried for you" she said as one of the Apprentices opened the door. "Please, stay strong. One day, good things will come your way."

Marcello was tempted to reply he did not see a way for good things to come. He did not want to be Borgia's apprentice. That man _did not want him_, he could see it from miles.

He was afraid. Afraid because he did not know what would have become of him.

Jun crossed the doorway, leaving Marcello on the threshold, to keep the door open.

"Marcello, remember" she said as she walked away. "When you're on the bottom, you can only climb."

They left. Marcello saw them walking past a group of bystanders, then another, and finally he lost sight of them as they vanished behind a corner.

What did the world still want from him?

He had already lost his father, he had lost his brother, and now even the last mentor figure he had had in the Order.

"My life stinks" he sighed as he started closing the door.

"Pff… come on" a voice replied him from the outside. "And don't close the door, boy, I'm trying to get in."

"What could you know about it, Monsieur Flamel?" Marcello asked opening the door so the elder alchemist could enter.

"You know, watching people dying around you is not a nice sight."

"_Ma no, guardate._" Marcello pouted and folded his arms. "I've lost my father, Monsieur. A moment before I was playing in the square, and a moment after he was lifeless on a bench. I've seen my first mentor dying in the worst possible way. And now even my second mentor is gone."

"Parents, teachers, they all have to die sooner or later. You'll join them before you can notice." Flamel replied shaking his head. Despite Marcello was slightly taller than him, he felt small. Only that prevented him to tell the elder to go to Hell.

He let him pass and closed the door, letting it bang, and then he hurried to find a free bench before his right ankle stung too much.

"You know, I thought… you could stay here too" Andreas told him sitting next to him. "Until the end of the summer. If you don't know where to go now, here there's always room."

"Andreas, that's very kind of yours, but… no, grazie. I want to go home. I can't pretend nothing happened."

"You had not told me about your father."

"Well… it happened three years ago. We lived in the countryside, but he had grown up in Firenze so we went there every now and then" Marcello explained. "Flavia and I were playing… he was resting on a bench, as it seemed he had already been ill in the previous days… no one expected it."

"_My_ father is a pain in my neck" Andreas commented. "I mean, I love him and everything, and he's an amazing physician, but… maybe he wants too much from me. He says I should listen more, but he doesn't listen to me. All the times I told him how my teachers act with me just because I think they're wrong… and then… he could have had more fantasy with my name, instead of sticking his own on me without even thinking…"

"Vanni, too, had his father's name. Yet I don't even know who his father was. He instead… I wouldn't be surprised if one day I saw his statue in Firenze!"

"I think you will" Andreas grinned.

He looked at his shoes, then at the bandage on his arm.

"Do you think we will meet again?"

"You should visit Italia sometimes" Marcello proposed. "The dome of Santa Maria del Fiore, in Firenze, is really amazing."

"I've heard in Roma a bigger one will be made" Andreas mumbled scratching his chin. "But is it true Roma is being sacked?"

"I'm afraid it is" Marcello answered. "Flavia, Alessio and I saw the siege with our own eyes."

"When will people decide to give up for once?"

Flamel was back in the hall. He had taken what seemed a dirty package out of his satchel.

"Marcello, can I entrust you with something?"

Even if the cloth hid whatever was in the package, it was more than clear what the alchemist was up to give him.

The Stone. The Book.

"You can't" Marcello immediately replied.

"Can't I?" Flamel asked. "Boy, I'm old. I've grown tired of all this. And I, too, have left behind a father and my teachers. I have no other hope… no other wish… but to join them, sooner or later. As long as I have the Stone… I can't. I'll have to keep myself and my wife alive with its powers to keep it away from greedy hands."

"I'm… I'm only twelve. How can I keep it safe?"

"Sometimes, a mere boy like you turns out to be the best guardian. You would not use the Stone for riches, or power, nor to live forever." Flamel resolved putting the package in his hands.

As the alchemist turned his heels, Marcello replied "You're wrong".

"Am I?" Flamel turned to him again.

"I'd use it" Marcello mumbled. "For my first mentor. For Giovanni de'Medici."

"Giovanni dalle Bande Nere?" Flamel sneered. "The Great Devil? The landsknechts' scourge?"

Marcello nodded.

"He loved you, didn't he?"

"Like a brother, he says" Andreas butted in.

Flamel put his hands on Marcello's shoulders, but he did not take back the Book and the Stone.

"That is the point, Marcello Auditore" he said in a murmur. "You'd never use it… _for yourself_. And that makes all the difference."

* * *

><p><em>Despite Madame Merle's protests, the morning after we already were in the streets, ready to leave.<em>

_The night before, Borgia had disappeared again. Francesco had paid a group of Apprentices to make them look for him at his place, but even when the boys had managed to pick the lock of the door, they only found an empty house and the proofs the owner had effectively packed up everything and left the place for once._

* * *

><p><em>July 7, 1527, stables of the Assassin Order<em>

"Goodbye and good riddance!" Alessio announced after Bertrand and his friends had finished their report.

He was up to sigh with relief, but Flavia didn't let him and clipped him on the ear.

"Giovanni is just stubborn" Francesco commented climbing, not without a groan, on the carriage on which they had arrived in Paris some days before. "Like his father. Do you really think I haven't understood why he got only now on Flamel's tracks, when he had known about the Stone for seven years?"

"What do you think he'll do, now?" asked Andreas, who was bending over a crate and inspecting the insides of a dead pigeon.

"Now? If I know Giovanni well, he'll try to meet Maria Amiel's parents. In some months I'll have a letter in which he writes me he has married her. They'll come back to Italia sooner or later. He'll apologize to me for what he has done, and friends again."

He pulled up a sleeve and tried to loosen the bandages on his left arm where La Motte had wounded him with his very sword.

"I expected more lunacy from him, but if that girl has finally caught him up in a tether, so much the better."

Alessio loaded the remaining satchels on the carriage and jumped up, then he held out a hand to help Flavia up.

"Talking about tethers…" Bertrand, who had just finished urinating in the box where the Guild prepared the saltpeter for the gunpowder, chuckled.

"One more word and you'll have to sit down to piss for your whole life, you soap-eater!" Alessio threatened him. Flavia was tempted to smack him again, but she restrained herself thinking that she would only have given Bertrand plenty of rope.

"Let's get a move on" Francesco said grabbing the reins.

"Oh, no, you don't" Alessio replied snatching them from his hands. "You're still a bit too beat-up to hold the reins."

"And would you be able to hold them?"

"Nothing to it!"

Andreas left the pigeon, cleaned up his hands and joined Marcello.

"Will we meet again?" he asked.

"Visit me maybe. Just… don't mind the faces other Apprentices will pull when you tell you're my friend." Marcello grinned and patted him on the shoulder.

"Why?"

"Nothing… nothing you should know" Marcello resolved.

He was visibly happy things had gone that way. Andreas had not been able to associate the name "Auditore" with the Prophet, and for Marcello and Flavia had been so much the better if someone, and another Assassin in the bargain, had been completely in the dark about Papà's legacy, for a change.

Andreas and Marcello shook hands, then Marcello turned and climbed on the carriage.

"So… see you!" Andreas waved as Alessio spurred the horses.

"_Ciao, Andreas! Ciao, ragazzi!_" Flavia stood up and waved her arms. "It's been nice knowing you!"

Andreas and the Parisians Apprentices became farther and farther, until they disappeared when the carriage turned around a corner.

Marcello was still looking at the road behind them.

"You know, Flavia" he said after a sigh. "When Vanni and I left Roma… before Pietro joined us in a hurry saying he had been sent after us by Zia Claudia… well, Vanni told me not to look back, because the world is ahead."

"It's not that he was wrong" Francesco commented trying to correct the way Alessio steered.

"I know, it's hard." Flavia put a hand on her little brother's shoulder. "But you'll see, everything will get fixed."

"That is not the point" Marcello replied. "Do you think he'd want to… come back, if he could?"

He stayed quiet for a moment.

"Papà never would. But he… well, he had fought his own battle. He had seen everything, done everything, in the end he didn't have… loose ends. He knew in time we would have moved on."

In front of them, the Bastille fortress was outlined again.

"Vanni instead… he was gone too soon." Marcello resolved.

"Marcello… I don't think… he really considered it _too_ soon. In the end… he acted like Papà. He has passed the torch before passing away. He didn't leave loose ends either."

Marcello turned his look from his sword to his satchel.

"How can I understand he really did not have any loose end?"

"Well… he passed his title of Capitano. He passed his sword. He asked Pietro to train Cosimo. It would have been different, Marcello, if he had been immediately killed by a bullet to the head. The few days he had left, he used them all to make the difference."

"I miss him anyway" Marcello sighed. "And then… I wish he had foreseen Borgia would have become such a _stronzo_…"

"Become?" Francesco turned his head. "He has always been, and your teacher knew it. Just, he… hoped you could support each other. Or maybe he just fooled himself. But it doesn't matter now. There are many other Brothers who would give their ring finger to train you, and in the meantime, if I could take care of the three of you for the whole journey, I still can. Apart from you, Alessio, Benvenuto is waiting for you in Mantova."

"What's up, are you hounding me out?" Alessio replied turning his head.

"Look at the road, Alessio, and no, I'm not, you have your master, he is no longer in a war zone, so you go with him."

By then, they were out of the city, they had taken a lot of potholes, and Francesco had had to take back the reins from Alessio before he started causing real trouble.

Flavia could see just looking at Marcello's face he did not want a master willing to give any finger just for his name.

She could understand him: had she been in his shoes, she would have wanted someone who learned to know her like Francesco had done with her, and Benvenuto had done with Alessio.

"Flavia… I'm afraid." Marcello resolved.

Flavia put her hands on his shoulders and then hugged him.

"Don't worry" she said. "You still have me."

* * *

><p><em>When we found Benvenuto in Mantova, the artist was more or less the same as ever, apart from some scars here and there from the siege and a definitely straggly beard.<em>

_We didn't expect instead to meet Tommaso Spada, his wife and his three younger kids, in an one way journey to Venezia after having sold their plot of land._

_It was obvious they could no longer go on in what was to all intents and purposes a contended zone, and they had preferred joining Arturo in La Serenissima and try to buy some business in the city._

_For a change, Oreste tried in vain to pull some pranks on Marcello, but the bells had not ringed nine times and he had fallen asleep with his head on the dinner table._

_Obviously we were dead tired, too, but Marcello, that night owl, had the itch for a nighttime walk…_

* * *

><p><em>July 16, 1527, Mantova, Benvenuto's house<em>

Marcello had heard from someone, he did not remember who, it was always darkest just before dawn.

He did not know if that was actually true about the sun and everything, but if things that night would have gone well, now he was in the darkest moment, dawn would have arrived soon.

Everything would have been all right. Everything would have come back as before.

He just had to walk those few steps that from the house the Gonzaga had given to Benvenuto led to the Rotonda di San Lorenzo, and from there, walk the few streets leading to the church of San Francesco.

At that point, he would have entered the church and opened the Book.

He would have entered the church alone, but two people would have gotten out of it.

As he went out, he thought he had heard a squeak, but he did not stop. Probably, the wind had moved a shutter.

Some more minutes, and he wouldn't have been alone anymore.

"_Marcello Auditore_!"

He froze on the spot. The voice belonged to one of the twins, Laura with no doubt, as Lavinia hardly spoke to him twice a day, and surely _never_ in that authoritative tone.

"What are you doing? Do you even know how dangerous can be wandering about at night?"

Marcello wheeled around and lifted an eyebrow.

"Do you even know who you are talking to?"

Laura folded her arms and mimicked his look.

"Sure: a boy not even thirteen years old" she snorted. "Where you think you're going?"

"You wouldn't believe if I told you" Marcello answered her restarting to walk.

Laura ran after him and grabbed his sleeve.

"Don't go!"

Marcello freed himself with a tug. Laura grabbed his sash.

"Arturo once tried to run away from home."

Marcello quickened his pace and Laura lost her grip, but she immediately returned to the charge and grabbed his shoulders.

"And he came back the day after in tears and with a fever!" she resolved.

"I'm not running away from home!" Marcello turned again to reply. "For a start, "home" is in Fiesole, at least two days of travel from here, and I can't wait to be there."

"Where are you going, then? Messer Benvenuto does have a privy, you know? Actually I was in there until some time ago, but then again…"

"You wouldn't believe me anyway" Marcello said as he restarted walking. Laura trotted behind him.

"Tell me it anyway!"

"At the San Francesco di Assisi church" Marcello resolved with a sigh.

"At the church" Laura said.

Marcello nodded.

"At this time."

Marcello nodded again.

"What are you supposed to do in there?"

Marcello did not answer and quickened his pace even more. Laura started running after him.

"Stop following me!"

That seemed to be Laura's deaf ear. Maybe it would have been better give her the slip in another way. He still had the hookblade strapped to his wrist.

He activated it, he approached one of the walls and started climbing up. In no time, he was on a roof.

"What the Hell are you doing?" Laura's voice came from the road. "Get down!"

Marcello looked at her and for a fugitive moment was tempted to cock a snook at her. He was on a roof. She was in the streets. He would have gone forward, she wouldn't.

"Go back to Benvenuto, Laura!"

Laura looked around, almost beaten, she went back to the last crossroads, and there she stayed.

"I can't!"

Her voice had lost the defiant tone, passing to what was definitely fear.

_She had gotten lost_.

That was all he needed!

He couldn't leave her alone. Who knew who or what could have attacked her... unfortunately, at that time of the night, there were quite many drunkards, madmen or criminals… too many people could hurt her.

Marcello did not worry at all for himself, he was armed and after all the training he had had, he could have bumped any drunk off or turned into an eunuch any maniac.

But, even supposing he could have stayed away for half an hour, in that half an hour anything could have happened to Laura.

He grabbed the pitch and climbed down the wall. He had no other choice but let her follow him.

At the sunrise, they would have left again, even if he still did not know their destination. That night might have been his last chance.

"Why do you want to go to that church?" Now Laura was more exasperated than else. "Why now? Arturo told me you don't have good memories of this city at all! Actually, he does not either…"

She gasped.

"The _Capitano_ de'Medici! He's in that church, isn't he?"

Marcello raised both his eyebrows.

"So clever! Now, would you please shut up and follow me before we wake up the whole city?"

He restarted walking, with Laura after him.

They had covered at least two more streets when she, in a low voice, asked him "Why didn't you go last afternoon?"

"Because the church was crowded" Marcello replied in the same tone.

"What do you have to do? Why nobody has to watch?" Laura kept asking. "Do you have to take something from the grave? Did Francesco ask you to?"

"Neither" Marcello sighed, exasperated.

He already could see the bell tower. He only had to walk until the end of the road before he could see the façade.

"How do you think you'll get in?" Laura asked him. "The door is bound to be closed."

"Do you see those windows on the front? In the one on the left, the glass is broken, I've never seen it whole, and as it seems the friars still don't have the funds to fix it. And let's say the four _giuli_ Van… the Capitano left to the friars had other priorities. I can get in through the broken window and open the door from the inside."

"You don't need to. I can wait outside."

"Laura… you may be twelve and a half and I may be almost thirteen, but you're defenseless and I have weapons" Marcello replied. "If I leave you alone and something bad happens to you… well, your brother Arturo would kill me for a start."

Without giving the girl time to reply, he climbed on the bare bricks and hauled himself up on the window.

He had to watch out for what remained of the glass, but luckily the crack was large enough for him to pass without more damage than a small rip in his vest.

He landed, bending his knees, on the stone floor of the church, and immediately walked towards the main entrance, unbolting the door to let Laura in.

"They taught you even this in the Order?" Laura asked entering.

"I haven't been taught how to kill in the Order" Marcello replied. "What I had to learn was to survive."

Despite the unadorned building, the trusses, the columns made of bare bricks, and the darkness, Laura was amazed, to say the least of it.

"I've never seen such a building before" she said, moving a few steps in the main aisle. "Not from the inside."

Marcello sided her and grinned.

"I suppose you like the frescoes, don't you? Not exactly the best time to see them, but sì, they're pretty good." he said folding his arms. "When you'll get in Venezia, let Arturo show you Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari, if he knows it. That is pretty amazing."

"Arturo talked about the Basilica di San Marco to be honest…" Laura grimaced. "The other one, he mentioned it's near the Guild but it's not the most important church in the city…"

"Neither is this, actually" Marcello commented. "But I Frari is where my parents got married. Now, as far as I know, Mentore Francesco's brother is working in there. And he's the official painter of La Serenissima."

Laura made a sympathetic grin, then she turned immediately serious.

"_Va bene_, we're here. Now, what do you have to do?"

Marcello was tempted not to tell it, but denying the evidence after would have been useless.

"I have the Philosopher's Stone in my satchel" he whispered. "I could bring back… I could bring back people."

He thought that Laura would have commented something like "Great!". Or that she would have at least grinned or shown herself understanding.

What he did not expect, was an "Are you _mad_?" and a smack.

"Easy with those hands!" he protested rubbing his cheek.

"Don't do it" Laura ordered him. "Bringing back the dead… Marcello, you'd only put yourself in danger. If you even did it and the Capitano was seen by anyone… people would think you have dealt with the Devil!"

"But it's not true. I've been given that Stone. By Nicolas Flamel…"

"Nicolas Flamel? The dead bloke?"

"He wasn't dead."

"Yet for the world he is. Don't you Assassins have rules? No harming innocents, no exposing, no causing trouble to the Order? You'd break two of them with what you're doing!"

"Laura, you have to understand me. I'm feeling… lost" Marcello fumed. "I've lost my father, I've lost two teachers. And I'm not even thirteen… what do you think I could do, now?"

"Is the world over, Marcello?" Laura asked putting her hands on her hips. "If you have found two masters, you'll find a third. If you try to bring one back instead… well, don't you think it would be just like if you said "I give up, I ship the oars, I stop searching"? This wouldn't be what Capitano de'Medici would want from you."

She grabbed his wrist and led him outside, in the streets.

At the first bench, Laura sat down and waited for Marcello to do the same.

"You know" she said. "My parents told me that, when my sister and I were born, as it seemed Lavinia kicked me in some way before she got out, and after she had been born, I came out… well, the wrong way."

Initially, Marcello started thinking about what could that mean, but then he remembered what Papà had told _him_ when he had been small. It could be nothing but that.

"Sorry, you don't get it, do you? It's not nice to tell… I got out… well, _butt first_. I could have even died in a few days, or stayed in bed my whole life. My parents could have abandoned me to my fate, yet they didn't do it, and in the end their choice turned out to be the best."

Even if there was almost no light at all, Marcello could notice Laura was visibly blushing.

As it seemed, it was time to spill the beans.

"I know, I know" Marcello smiled at her. It did not seem true in the end they had ended up discussing of common ground on such an embarrassing matter. "I came out with my butt first too. The midwife feared I would have died in a few days or become a cripple or an idiot. And then… my father always told me, not even a month after, I hit his face with a kick, and I surprised everyone, when, on my second birthday, I went down a flight of stairs on my own… always on my butt, though."

The fact an average Laura Spada had managed to stop him from getting his brother back made him smart terribly, but in his heart he was forced to admit she was right. He could not try to waste like that a chance like the Philosopher's Stone, the last resource, without even trying to look for someone to lead him forward in his path.

Then again, Vanni had always been the kind of person who liked staying still. Even if Marcello had actually managed to bring him back, how would Vanni have managed to live into hiding, staying dead anyway for the whole world?

What kind of life would it have been?

"I'm such a stupid."

Laura restricted herself to put an arm around his shoulders. Marcello let her do it.

"You'd wish you could bring people back" she commented. "People just forget it's easier to join them, sooner or later. We may have to wait a lifetime, but don't you think it's worth it, if we'll see everyone again?"

Marcello felt a lump going up his throat. He wanted to cry.

Somewhere above them, swallows had started singing.

The sun was rising.

It almost seemed that even the birds roaming the sky wanted to tell him to restart going ahead. Yet, it was so hard deciding to leave that place once and for all.

"We'd better come back, before they notice we're not in." Laura stood up and held out a hand.

It took nothing to get back to the Rotonda di San Lorenzo, and from there to Benvenuto's house, but Marcello started fearing for his rank when he saw Alessio just outside the main door, throwing away in a barrel what seemed a fistful of hairs.

"Oh, buongiorno" was however the boy's only comment. "Have you had a walk?"

"I needed to think and Laura followed me" Marcello explained. "Please, don't tell Francesco."

"Are you mad or what?" Alessio replied with a sneer. "If I squeal to Francesco, everyone will know I've been awake for the last hour, and Benvenuto will know who…"

"Benvenuto will know who what?" Laura intervened.

Alessio restricted himself to whistling and pulling a razor out of a pouch.

"Benvenuto will know who has shaved him in his sleep" Marcello completed the sentence. "Alessio, let me tell you it, you're such a _carogna_!"

* * *

><p><em>After finding out Benvenuto was going to stay some more months in Mantova to work for the Gonzaga, Alessio tried to hide in our carriage, but Oreste Spada saw everything and did the snitch.<em>

_I write it here because I really want to remember it, Alessio said it out loud, he definitely missed Cosimo._

_Marcello did not tell for some days what had happened the night before we left, and the only clue I had for some time was he had spent part of the journey snoring in the rear of the carriage, but once we were in Fiesole I caught him in Papà's study, writing a letter for Cosimo and one for Laura. After he was sure we were alone, he pulled me in a corner and told me everything._

_In Firenze, things were not going so well. A plague epidemic killed Benvenuto's father and older sister. Liberata, Cecchino, and his apprentice Berto were spared as they were mostly working in the countryside, but Bartolomeo, Liberata's husband, was not so lucky, and was killed by the disease._

_When Benvenuto got back home and found it out, he needed all the support Alessio could give him to pull himself together and regain his old grin. It didn't pass too much time either before Liberata started seeing another man, an Assassin who had lost his wife and son in the pestilence. The world was going ahead, and even for Marcello, with time, was easier getting past what he had suffered._

_An year went by. Orazio Baglioni was killed in a battle in Napoli, and Francesco decided it was time for the Bande Nere to be dismissed, instead of entrusting them again to a Capitano unable to manage them._

_The Germans had finally left Roma, and the Brotherhood came back to occupy the old Headquarters on Tiber Island._

_It was time to rebuild._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Ma no, guardate = You don't say. (In this case, Marcello is being kinda formal. If you noticed, he says "ma no, guarda" to people he knows well, and "ma no, guardate" to people he doesn't know. In English you couldn't spot the difference, but yet…)<strong>_

_**Ciao, Andreas! **__**Ciao, ragazzi! = Bye, Andreas! **__**Bye, guys! (In Italian, "ciao" is used for both "hi" and "bye")**_

_**Stronzo = asshole**_

_**The Rotonda di San Lorenzo is a Medieval church in Mantova, near one of the main squares.**_

_**Giuli = a currency of that period. Yup, not only Florins.**_

_**Va bene = OK**_

_**Buongiorno = good morning**_

_**Carogna = rotter**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Now, in this chapter I've hinted at a song I listened to for the first time last Christmas night, when the idea for this story still had to form and only the pilot episode (you know... Luci di Natale...) was online.<strong>_

_**Initially, I meant to put it in Chapter 9, in a scene that eventually was deleted. Then, I tried to put it in Chapter 11, but the situation didn't suit it. And in the end... it got here.**_

_**A huge virtual hug to whoever can guess which song is it, and who wrote it.**_


	20. History Repeats Itself

_**SPOILER FOR THE AC3 ENDING.**_

_**Now you'll say... how is it possible despite I had outlined all the plot several times, I rewrote the beginning and the end of the chapter? Yeah that's me and my retarded brain.**  
><em>

_**By the way, for whoever isn't paying attention at the time skip at the beginning of the chapter: Marcello is almost fifteen, Flavia and Alessio are 16, and Cosimo is almost 10.**_

* * *

><p><em>Before we could notice, years kept going by. Before Marcello turned fourteen, finally the news Frundsberg was dead started circulating in Europe. Francesco received news from a spy at the Imperial Court, a woman called Isabel, that his de facto successor in the Templar Order, Count Niklas of Salm, had decided to give up all the sick general pretend as impossible to keep maintaining.<em>

_It seemed the dust in Italia was up to settle, as the Sultan had started moving an offensive towards Hungary, and the Imperial military, Templars included, had moved to that battlefront._

_The dust didn't settle at all. One of the many clauses of the peace treaty was that Imperial Spanish soldiers were to take Firenze on behalf of same old Duca Alessandro._

_Francesco, obviously, while in Firenze a city militia was being formed, thought about taking us immediately away from the conflict, and Benvenuto and Alessio, Cecchino and Berto, Liberata, her new husband Corrado and her daughter Elisabetta, did the same._

_Our destination was obviously Roma, where the local Brotherhood needed all the help it could get to rebuild the control it had had on the city._

_We had been in the city for some weeks when we had an unexpected visit: Pietro, Arturo and Cosimo had come from Venezia, to help with the reconstruction._

* * *

><p>Chapter 19<p>

History Repeats Itself

_May 26, 1529, Roma_

It was the typical sunny day of a late spring.

After a morning spent running errands for the teams in this or that district of the city, Marcello and Cosimo had accepted Cecchino's invitation to dine with Duca Alessandro's bodyguards… who were, at least in Roma, some former soldiers of the Bande Nere who, despite the army had been dis_bande_d, still collaborated with the Brotherhood reporting every movement of the nobleman (or noble_turd_, as Cosimo called him).

"And at that point they jumped from the tower and dived into the water" Cosimo was busy with telling the facts happened at the Villa del Trebbio two years before.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, you kids really noticed everything just because you had stolen the jam?" Cecchino chuckled.

"Everything is permitted!" Cosimo shrugged and raised his chin mimicking an authority.

"That means you're responsible of your own deeds, you dummy!" Cecchino grabbed him from behind and scratched his head with a closed fist.

Cosimo wriggled a bit and shouted at Cecchino to let him go, but before being freed from the Assassin's grasp his hair was as spiky as a nervous hedgehog.

"Not funny!" he panted trying to comb his hair with his hands.

"Strange, that's what Alessio says too when you stick feathers up his nose."

"I was five! Well… almost six, actually. Don't tell me you weren't a turd when you were six because I won't believe you!"

The other two men sitting at the table, Sergio Di Gaspare and Carmine Esposito, burst into laughter, and Sergio exclaimed "_Toccato_!"

"Well at least no one wanted to make a lawyer out of you when you were six" Cecchino grinned and shook his head. "Really, if it had depended on my father, Benvenuto would have been one of those _coglioni_ who ambush us with their lutes, and I'd be getting bored to death in some courthouse."

"And then what happened?" Marcello intervened, even if he thought he knew the answer.

"Well, Benvenuto was the first to stand up to our old man. He dumped the musical instruments and asked a Michelangelo Brandini to accept him in his workshop. Funny how Bartolomeo, his teacher's son, eventually started _hating_ him. I mean, Benvenuto is younger, he came out of the blue, and he totally bested him, so…"

"The very Bartolomeo Brandini who is making the model of St. Michael for His Holiness?" Cosimo intervened. "_Baccio_ Brandini?"

"I don't know… Benvenuto calls him _asshole_…" Cecchino chuckled, making the people in the room burst out laughing again. "As for me, I thought I had to surrender to my own fate, when one night, at ten, I was attacked by a group of dicks in their twenties who wanted nothing but make a poor fourteen-year-old swallow his teeth…"

* * *

><p><em>Unfortunately for them, they had picked the wrong fourteen-year-old. Despite my father had tried to make me start my lawyer apprenticeship, or to make me study Latin, in that period I had started carrying messages across Firenze, and I had gathered enough florins to buy a sword. And let's say I also was able to hold it.<em>

* * *

><p><em>November 11, 1516, Firenze, near Porta San Gallo<em>

"You picked the wrong kid, _pezzo di merda_!" Cecchino drew his sword and raised his guard.

His assailant looked surprised for a moment, then drew his own sword and tried a lunge.

Cecchino raised his sword and intercepted the enemy's blow. The sound of ringing steel echoed in the street. It was far too easy.

"You're supposed to be twenty… so what am I, a baby?"

He freed his sword and slashed at the young man's side. The bully reacted late and got hit. His shirt got stained with blood, but it seemed nothing more than a flesh wound, as he raised his sword again, forcing Cecchino to take up a defensive position.

"Listen, if you wanted to send me to my Mamma without some florins, you'd better go back to yours."

He slashed again, hitting the bully's right shoulder. The man dropped his sword and backed against a wall, unarmed and visibly scared.

Now he just had to decide how to leave him a remainder to put him off doing it again. Disfigure him? Cut off one of his fingers? Pretend to kill him so he would wet his pants?

"Cecchino! Are you mad?"

It was Benvenuto's voice.

Oh, _shit_. Why did his "big" brother always have to arrive when he was _not _supposed to?

"Let's get away from here!" Benvenuto shouted again, running towards him.

"Not before I'm done with this asshole!"

"You have already done more than enough…!"

Cecchino was up to reply when he felt a sharp pain in his head. He tried to turn to Benvenuto or the bully, but everything had gone dark.

He felt like he was floating in shadows, he felt distant noises, he heard ringing steel and the steps of someone running, and shouts, but everything felt muffled.

Then, a voice seemed to rip open all that nothingness. Someone had shouted out loud.

"Guards! GUARDS!"

The sound of steps grew louder. Cecchino felt someone lifting him up and dragging him somewhere. The darkness was filled with yellow stains, then with blurred shapes, then it was again a street with people walking by, some rare lanterns in their hands, and two older boys by his side.

He took some time to recognize his brother Benvenuto as the one who was dragging him.

"Hey. Boy. Man. Your little brother is awake!" exclaimed the other boy, visibly older than Benvenuto, dressed in maroon, with very short dark hair and a stubble under his ridiculously small ears and on his chin.

Benvenuto turned to him, stopped, then pulled out what seemed a piece of cloth and started rubbing it on his head.

"Cecchino, can you see me? Do you recognize me?"

"Save your breath… dimwit…" Cecchino panted trying to lean on the nearest wall. The rag Benvenuto was holding had been slightly stained in red.

"A good beginning bodes well…" Benvenuto, as usual, did not turn a hair and kept pressing the rag on his head.

"Stop that… it hurts…"

"Well it can't do much else, Cecchino or whatever is your name, the little buddies of the guy you beat up hit your head with a rock, you're already lucky to be awake now" the older boy commented. "Where do you live exactly?"

"Via Chiara, near St. Ursula's convent" Benvenuto answered. "We're almost there, Cecchino, two more streets and we're home."

Only then, Cecchino noticed Benvenuto had two or three gashes on his arms and legs – and he had taken his sword, too.

He tried to take it back, but Benvenuto moved his hand away.

"Do you get it or not? You're hurt" he replied. "You're quite a sight too, if Father doesn't see you in bed straightaway with a bandage on your head, he might be able to smash a viola on your empty pate."

"You know he won't…" Cecchino took a hand to his head and felt something wet and sticky under his hair.

"Sì, I know, he'll just call the doctor. But you still don't need the sword. Not now."

The stranger in maroon chuckled.

"The kids of Mastro Cellini, the lutist. Am I right?"

"Two of the four" Benvenuto grinned and held out a hand. "I'm Benvenuto, and the squirt over here is Giovanfrancesco."

"So much for a squirt…" the boy exclaimed. "The guy he nailed to the wall was bigger than me and yet…"

"And yet, call me Giovanfrancesco and I'll nail you to the wall too."

The boy laughed and patted him on the shoulder.

"So it's Cecchino to your friends, right?"

"I never said you're my friend" Cecchino slurred.

"Let's get home, _scemo_" Benvenuto took hold of his arm, pulled it around his own shoulders, and restarted dragging him.

"I'm coming with you" the boy intervened. "For that fight, the Eight will have you thrown out of the city, and even if those apes who picked on you will be out of Toscana for years, I think you'll have to spend about six months far away from here, as soon as Cecchino is all right again. Maybe I'm still almost no one in this city, but far better than the absolutely no one I was when I was fourteen, and at least those guards listened to me and arrested those _puttanieri_."

Benvenuto stopped on the spot again.

"Hang on. Why did you call the city guards? Why did you save us?"

The boy turned and spread his arms. The bells of St. Ursula struck eleven. They were alone in the alley.

"Do I even have to tell you? You two fight damn well, you'd be wasted as lutist or minstrels or whatever your father expects from you. You should go directly to Siena at Mastro Castoro's place, or to San Casciano to look for Machiavelli… you'd be… oh, never mind…"

Benvenuto let Cecchino go and seized the boy's shirt collar.

"Now you speak. Who are you? What do you want from us?"

The boy grabbed Benvenuto's wrist and made him let go. Benvenuto let slip a groan and stood back.

"My name is Giovanni di Giovanni de' Medici" the boy said, turning solemn. "And I am an Assassin."

* * *

><p><em>In some way it was thanks to him we took wing. On his advice, we went to Siena some days later, where we looked for a… Francesco Castoro, if I remember well. He was another artist and he had been an Apprentice in Monteriggioni before Cesare Borgia destroyed it. By the way, that trip out of schedule was the beginning of our liberation.<em>

* * *

><p>"We were for the first time away from our old man, for the first time out of his leverage. And as we were in our own house and we had to get by on our own, Benvenuto with some art works, and I delivering stuff back and forth for Mastro Castoro, we decided we liked the Apprentices' life, the cause suited us… so here I am."<p>

"You skipped the part in which you begged the Capitano to spend some years in the army" Sergio intervened folding his arms.

"That's another story!" Cecchino garishly blushed and hit his fist on the table.

"Heh, those were the days!" Carmine mumbled shuffling his eternal card deck and fumbling with it.

"You tell me!" Cosimo replied looking grim. "I say, do you even know who you're talking to?"

Marcello's hand went almost instinctively to the pouch where he still kept the Philosopher's Stone, that recently had even covered in clay to hide better. He could not take off his mind the thought that, despite how foolish had been his attempt of two years before, it had been a lost opportunity to bring everything back to normal.

"What's wrong, Marcello?" Sergio intervened. "You're far too quiet!"

Marcello did not know what to answer, but luckily Cosimo saved him speaking for him.

"Leave him alone… if you only knew half of what he has passed, you'd be stuck whimpering in a corner!"

He stood up and patted Marcello on his shoulder.

"Shall we go? Remember, Flavia and Alessio told us we'd have met at that Pasquino guy's place…"

They got out of the inn and Cosimo put an arm around his shoulders.

"We shouldn't have come."

"No, never mind… it's all right."

"No it's not. What kind of friend do you think I am?" Cosimo put his feet down and folded his arms. "You know, I haven't forgotten your father too passed away on St. Andrew's Day, for a start."

Somewhere over them, a belltower was chiming three o'clock in the afternoon.

"There's something gnawing you, it's written all over your face."

Marcello sighed. He would have never wanted to lie, not to a friend, not to Cosimo. But he could not divulge that kind of secret. It was not that he didn't trust him, but Cosimo until two years before had been the chattiest boy of the whole Toscana, and Marcello was not too sure he had changed a lot, despite he was far more serious than when they had said goodbye in Pescarenico.

"I keep thinking I could have done something." Half a truth was always better than lying or revealing dangerous secrets.

"What? A miracle?" Cosimo grimaced. "Marcello, Arturo told me, now all wars are fought with cannons. It would have happened anyway. Unless the Bande would have put their hands on some cannons too…"

"Easier said than done, we've always been broke."

"So why do you keep taking the blame?"

Cosimo had absolutely changed. Marcello had never seen him so serious… and who knew if he had changed in the same way in his first two years in the Brotherhood. But apart from that, a new suspicion had arisen in his mind.

Maybe the wages that had never arrived had been held back on purpose. But by who, and why? The reason could be easily explained. A hungry army could not march for long. But who could have had an interest, either in Roma or Firenze, to put a spoke in their wheel?

Why, _why_ had those things come to his mind only with the wisdom of hindsight? It was more than obvious Giambattista Ariosto had revealed to whoever had been his contact that Giovanni de'Medici had been an Assassin. His contact, probably even before Marcello had joined the Bande, had cut their funds in some way, so, if he existed, he was bound to be an influent banker _at least_, maybe even someone who knew the Medici well.

"Cosimo, what if someone had tried to get in your father's way?"

"Someone, maybe, but _who_?" Cosimo replied. "That Giambattista swine ended up on a spit, he can't tell us."

"Since the Templars started plotting in the shadows, it gets harder and harder finding them" Marcello snorted. "Francesco was right. We need someone else determined enough to hunt them out."

From the face Cosimo had pulled, Marcello was ready to bet he was up to ask "But who?" again.

But they already were at Palazzo Orsini, where, next to one of the outer walls, there was a badly damaged Ellenistic statue that the Assassins first and the Romans later had named Pasquino, after, if what Francesco said was true, the Apprentice of his former team Nestore di Pasqua, who had been killed in an attack to one of Cesare Borgia's agents.

"_That_ is Pasquino?" Cosimo raised his eyebrow noticing Flavia and Alessio, along with other youngsters, were gathered around the base of the statue. "A statue without arms or legs? Didn't you… carry messages to him? Are you crazy?"

"We can see you ain't walked around the city at all, Mi'" Alessio chuckled pointing at the base of the statue, completely covered in writings and pieces of paper mocking in some way the Holy See and the ruling class of the city. "Pasquino is the people's voice. He speaks for who can't or for who is afraid."

"So who's this brat?" intervened Daniele, one of the biggest boys, who had turned eighteen that year.

"I wouldn't brag so much if I were you" Berto Aldobrandi stopped him grabbing his arm. He whispered something in Daniele's ear, but Marcello managed to read "He's Capitano de' Medici's son" on his lips.

"_Ragazzi_, come on, he's an Apprentice like us, stop making such a fuss and let's get back to work" intervened Costanza, Paolo Simoni's youngest child and only daughter, far more discreet than Daniele despite only being thirteen and a half.

"Work?" Cosimo asked.

"We have to keep an eye on the streets" Giuseppe, Costanza's elder brother, explained. "We are restoring our control, but right now we're still weak, _they_ could exploit it, snuff us out and reestablish _theirs_. So, some of us have to act as watchmen."

"Who are they?"

"_They_" Marcello repeated in a solemn tone. "The ones who killed Francesco's girlfriend."

"And he's supposed to be an Apprentice? Take him back to his _mamma_!" Daniele replied.

Alessio rolled his eyes.

"Danie', are you mad or what? Not even Marcello at ten knew we say _they_!"

Without any doubt, that Daniele braggart was up to reply again, but before anyone could say anything, Flavia pointed at one of the streets leading into the square and whispered "Red", gazing upon a group of approaching guards escorting a chained prisoner.

There literally was a transformation. Giuseppe pulled a rag ball out of a satchel he had on his shoulders and Alessio pulled a coin out of his pouch, as everyone gathered around them.

"Giuse', head or cross?"

"Cross."

Marcello smirked and squeezed Cosimo's shoulder to make him understand he had to play along. It was all a script. Alessio's coin was an iron forgery, made by Benvenuto copying the matrix he had made for the Papal mint, and it was also two-headed, so to easily resolve any argument.

"Head, me first" Alessio said pocketing the two-headed coin. "I pick Berto!"

"Costanza!"

As Alessio and Giuseppe kept on with the pretend of making teams for a fake game, Cosimo kept staring at the patrol. He pulled Marcello's sleeve.

"The man in chains…" he whispered to Marcello. "Isn't he old Cisti?"

Marcello took a peek at the group of guards with the corner of his eye. He knew he could not stare at them without risking to break his cover, so he immediately focused on the skill he had learned from his father and examined the prisoner with that.

The blue aura around the man left no room for doubt. That _was_ a former Bande Nere officer.

He tried to show a calm face, then he jumped up and down and raised his hand.

"Pick me, Alessio, pick me!"

It was always a hoax anyway. They had schemed all that plan for all the times a patrol passed by and they noticed something strange: it was _also_ for that Alessio's coin was two-headed.

If someone asked the boy with the head, usually Alessio, to be picked, it meant he or she had sighted a captured ally. If the plea was addressed to the boy who held the cross instead, the spotted person was a potential threat.

The guards passed near them, some of them even grinned, blissfully unaware those "candid children" had their eyes on them.

As soon as they were gone towards the road to Vaticano, Alessio clicked his fingers to signal the danger was no more and approached Marcello.

"Who was the prisoner?" he asked.

"A former Bande Nere officer, Cisti Lombardo. One of those who help us" Marcello explained. "Even if he doesn't spy on Pitch Face."

"Pitch Face" was how the Apprentices called Duca Alessandro, not to mock his evident mulatto origins, but for simple discretion. Alessio raised his eyebrows and nodded.

"From now on, I'll take care of it" Daniele intervened pushing Alessio backwards. "Berto Aldobrandi, Antonio Greco and Anguillotto da Lucca, with me. Let's find out where they are taking him and what do they want from him. And if someone asks why we're after them, say the wretch owes money to Capitano Cattivanza degli Strozzi."

"Are you sure it's a good idea?" Berto intervened. "We should call someone in my opinion… my mentor is not too far from here, and there are soldiers, too, with him."

"What's up, _Bertino_, are you afraid?"

Before Berto could reply, Flavia stood between the two and divided them.

"Daniele, Berto is right. What do you think you can do? You're just a Milite, no one here is more than that. And you want to gather a handful of Apprentices to tail at least twice as many guards? That's a job for fully-fledged Assassins!"

"Go jump in the Tiber River, you! Do you think I'll listen just 'cause your father was the Prophet?" Daniele replied.

"I don't want to force my so-called authority on anyone" Flavia answered him. "And surely not for a legacy I don't even want you to identify me with. I'm only trying to make you understand someone might get hurt, and _badly_. Adults should take care of this."

"Do I look like a child?" Daniele raised his arm and displayed his hidden blade. "Let's go!"

Anguillotto and Antonio went straightaway after Daniele, Berto instead stayed slightly behind and resignedly looked at Flavia and Marcello.

"Someone has to hold them back" he sighed. "Please, raise the alert. Things seem to be going for the worse."

As the four left, Flavia stood on an abandoned crate.

"_Ragazzi_, here the situation is getting dangerous. Giuseppe, Costanza, look for your father and give him the news. Marcello, maybe you'd better take Cosimo to the Florentine Embassy…"

"No, not to Nonno Iacopo!" Cosimo folded his arms and grimaced. "What if he finds out everything?"

"Va bene, to Pietro at the Headquarters… but the point is, streets around here are _not safe_, so get a move on."

Marcello took Cosimo's hand and started walking in the direction of Tiber Island, as Flavia, still standing on the crate, kept giving orders to the other kids.

Some of them reached them, Giuseppe and Costanza Simoni ran past them and started climbing on beams.

Marcello left Cosimo's hand and gestured him to go faster. They started walking faster and faster, and then running.

"Mind it, Cosimo…" Marcello panted as the Tiber banks got closer. "If that Daniele _idiota_ has caused any harm, I swear on my father's memory, _I'll kill him_."

* * *

><p><em>Daniele Sciarra had caused definitely harm.<em>

_Or at least, his plan might have worked, if the guards had not known he was tailing them and the reason._

_When Alessio and I reached the zone, it was too late to avoid the disaster._

* * *

><p>Even from a distance and hidden behind a corner, Flavia could understand she had arrived late.<p>

Daniele Sciarra was face down on the ground, a bleeding hole in his head. Berto had just fallen at the hands of a brute. Other guards had cornered Antonio, and Anguillotto was crouched up on the ground, clutching his right arm.

"How do we save the survivors now?" mumbled Alessio, fiddling with the handle of his gun.

"Surely not drawing them all here" Flavia said grabbing his wrist. For the first time since Giambattista had kidnapped her, she really felt in danger. If those guards had gained the upper hand on four Apprentices, she and Alessio would have been squashed like bugs if they had tried to intervene.

"Banger?" Alessio asked taking one out of his pouches.

"We have to save two people, in the worst hypothesis. Even if I had to toss the banger to distract them, I don't think you could carry them all away in time."

"Ragazzi!" Giuseppe Simoni was running to them. There was Cecchino Cellini with him.

"Giuse'! And your old man?" Alessio immediately asked.

"Costanza is looking for him" Giuseppe answered. "Flavia… Marcello and Cosimo have crossed the bridge. They're safe. I think they're also looking for help."

"How did you find…?" Flavia tried to ask, but Giuseppe intercepted her.

"_He_ found me."

At the moment, Cecchino had his stare fixed on the street, on the guards, on Berto's motionless figure on the ground.

There was too much blood. If he was not already dead, he was doomed.

"Flavia… who hit him?"

Flavia stayed silent and stared at the ground. She had already seen which guard had been, but if she had said it… what would have Cecchino done?

He was blinded by grief and rage. He might have lost control, if he already hadn't.

"WHO HIT HIM?" He grabbed her shirt collar.

Alessio stood in front of her and pushed away Cecchino's arm.

"Leave her alone! If you ever want to get angry with someone, he's over there!" he pointed at the brute among the guards. "That one with a two-handed broadsword and an azure feather on his cap."

Cecchino extended his hidden blade and moved forward in the street, drawing his sword with his free hand.

The guards turned to him, but he broke into a run, screaming, his weapons lifted.

No longer within reach of the guards' weapons, Antonio Greco started moving sideways, getting palm by palm away from the fight.

"We must cover him!" Alessio exclaimed pointing at the fleeing Apprentice. "Flavia, do you have your crossbow?"

Flavia nodded.

"Bene. If someone turns to the boys, blow him away" he said, rushing towards Anguillotto.

Flavia loaded the hidden crossbow and kept the weapon high, ready to hit whoever noticed Alessio's rescue attempt.

In the meantime, Cecchino had engaged in a duel his apprentice's killer, with the same fury Flavia had seen in Francesco two years before, in Paris, in the graveyard.

As Alessio returned and laid Anguillotto to safety behind a stack of crates, Flavia heard steps behind her, and immediately after, in the corner of her eye, saw Marcello siding with her and loading his hidden gun.

"Weren't you supposed to look for help?"

"Cosimo begged me to come back here, he couldn't stop chewing on his nails until I left" Marcello explained pouring gunpowder in his weapon. "The others are coming, they were getting weapons so I came first."

In front of them, Cecchino had overpowered the brute with the azure feather and had impaled his stomach with his sword.

Antonio, too, reached the safety of the crate stack, but Alessio went for another run in the street.

"What are you…?" Flavia tried to ask him, but he had already picked up Berto from the ground and hauled him on his shoulder.

It wouldn't have taken long for the other guards to notice him, and there were two harquebusiers among them.

As it seemed, Cecchino had noticed it, too.

Other Assassins were arriving, Flavia could hear their steps. But they would have not arrived on time. Not on time to dispatch the two harquebusiers before one of the two could start aiming at the escaping Apprentice.

Flavia tried with a bolt, but the short range of her weapon sent it bouncing off on the street.

Marcello's bullet succeeded where Flavia had failed, killing a rifleman, but the other had raised his weapon and pointed straight at Alessio's back.

Both Flavia and Marcello tried to race forward, in the attempt to do something, _anything_, to take Alessio out of the rifle range.

The harquebusier's fuse was burning.

Alessio kept carrying the dying companion.

Cecchino threw himself towards the armiger, with the visible intention to stab him in the back with his hidden blade.

The harquebusier turned.

A shot resonated in the road.

Flavia stopped. Marcello continued his rush for a few more steps.

Only when the bang had died away, Flavia understood her brother was screaming "NO!"

As the smoke from the gun faded, the guards, harquebusier included, started retreating. Alessio, in the middle of the road, on his feet, with Berto still on his shoulders, was looking around, feeling his back with a hand, visibly terrified but _unharmed_.

Cecchino had saved his life.

But there were not only assassinated guards on the ground.

Cecchino had fallen on the stone pavement, grimacing in pain, a bleeding hole _just over his right knee_.

* * *

><p><em>There was nothing we could do for Berto. He passed away a few moments after Alessio had laid him on the ground.<em>

_We hurried to carry Anguillotto and Cecchino away, to Tiber Island, and to call a surgeon to extract the bullet and treat the wounds._

_Luckily, Anguillotto's wounds turned out to be simple gashes, and the surgeon was more than able to close them and order complete rest, but, even if he had examined Cecchino first and had extracted the bullet, he immediately clarified his case was very serious._

* * *

><p>"How is that possible?" was Marcello's first comment. "I've seen soldiers getting hit by firearms even twice, recovering and going back to the battlefield. It can't be so terrible."<p>

The surgeon, a young man in his mid twenties, restricted himself to put his tools back in his bag and to shake his head.

"Soldiers, young man. In a battle. From a distance."

He cleaned up his hands on a rag, in a gesture that reminded immediately Smart Ass Andreas to Alessio.

"But when you get hit by a harquebus from a distance of two or three steps, the only thing you can do is to pray for a miracle. A bullet from so close does the same damage a cannon shot would do from a distance."

Next to Alessio, Benvenuto quickly blanched under his beard.

"Cut the leg then!" Alessio stepped forward and grabbed the surgeon's bloody sleeve. "There's no such thing as miracles, you are the surgeon and the wounded depends on you!"

Benvenuto kept staying still, motionless, on the spot. He did not seem to be willing to react, yet in that moment more than ever, Alessio needed his master to give him support.

"Benvenuto, you have to do something!" Alessio let the surgeon go and grabbed his teacher's shoulders. "Your brother is not dead yet! Don't be such a maggot, _cretino_!"

Other Assassins, including the Mentore, tried to convince the surgeon to do something, but he replied he did not even have the _expertise_ to amputate a leg.

After many heavy insults from Pietro Aretino, some definitely loud protests from Marcello and _no fucking reaction_ from Benvenuto, the surgeon announced he was going away and left the building.

Alessio marched towards the door from which the surgeon had left, opened it, spat on the ground and slammed it closed.

No one, not even Flavia, Donna Claudia or Mentore Francesco, dared to scold him.

"We needed Andreas here, not that _cagasotto_!" Alessio sighed addressing the closed door.

"There aren't many surgeons better than him in the city" Donna Claudia intervened. "Not after the pillage of two years ago. The master surgeon who helped us before him was killed by the plague that came right after it."

"I know, I know, the plague, but…" Alessio protested. Why had his voice started sounding so strange?

That bullet had been meant for him. That harquebusier had aimed at him. And Cecchino instead had stood in the middle and had tried to assassinate him.

Why had he wanted to be the hero? If the bullet had hit _him_, it would have been from a distance. He could have even easily survived.

"Why did he have to step in the way?" he burst out, but it was more a sob than a shout.

He felt like he was eight again, and a Brother had died because of him one more time. Cecchino could not die. He did not want to cause another death.

It was then Benvenuto moved, seized him by the shoulders and made him stay still.

"Don't. Take. The blame." he ordered. "Alessio… you're part of the family for us. You don't even have to _ask_ why. I know… we know… you would have done the same for me, Cecchino or Liberata anytime. You carried Berto away even if he was already dying. It wasn't your fault. You told Cecchino to blame it on the guard, didn't you? Bene. It will be the guard who will have to pay. Even before Cecchino loses his sight, he'll see himself avenged by our hands!"

Without saying anything else, Benvenuto encircled his back with his own arms and made him get closer. In other circumstances, Alessio would have never let Benvenuto hug him, let alone in a crowded room, but the only thing he wanted to do in that moment was to weep on his shoulder.

He never had even dared to think he could have been given something like that for granted.

Not when Borgia had abandoned him in the foundlings' wheel to save his own skin.

Not when no one had bothered to even listen to him crying at the hospital.

Sure, he had seen the way Mentore Francesco and Capitano de'Medici had taken respectively Flavia and Marcello… _under their wings_. But he would have never expected absent-minded, childish and reckless Benvenuto to really consider him like a younger brother, let alone his brother and sister to accept him as one of them.

Despite the grief of the moment, deep in his heart he could not help feeling a hint of… what was that? Happiness?

He felt like he _belonged_. That was that.

And it was the best feeling in the world.

* * *

><p><em>Francesco ordered all the Apprentices would have spent the night at the Headquarters, while the Assassins would have patrolled the city for any hint of what could have stirred up apparently clueless guards against mere boys.<em>

_Antonio, the one who had escaped almost unharmed from the fight, had reported that the guards had pretty much ignored them, until they had heard what had seemed a cuckoo and had immediately attacked._

_That confirmed Francesco's suspicions. There actually was someone who was attempting to undermine the Assassins' thriving control. And that someone..._

* * *

><p>"… knows us. Or at least, knows us enough to recognize our youngest Apprentices."<p>

Paolo Simoni instinctively clutched Giuseppe's shoulders.

"Do you think our children are being targeted on purpose?"

"Flavia got abducted two years ago" Francesco said. "But because of her bloodline, not her age. This is different. We can't have proofs _children_ are being targeted, not without exposing them to useless risks. But if they are…"

"What about Messer Cisti?" Cosimo intervened. "And Cecchino?"

"Cisti Lombardo was in a dangerous mission, spying on the Spanish soldiers ready to leave for Firenze" Francesco explained. "He knew what he was facing. As for Cecchino, he was not signaled to the guards, he threw himself in the fight like Achilles after Patroklos was killed."

Flavia thought about the hypothesis Francesco had left unfinished. Cisti Lombardo had been in an espionage mission, so it was highly likely he had just been caught red-handed. She had seen with her own eyes Cecchino attacking and killing one of the guards before the others could consequently attack.

But if really, like Francesco had assumed, someone was attacking only the young Apprentices, what reason could they have? They could not undermine the Brotherhood only getting rid of some Apprentices. Not when their only jobs were some daytime patrolling and… doing the errand kids, she saw no other way to describe it.

Of course, an Apprentice would have become an Assassin in time, but there always were men and women entering the Brotherhood in their adult years, so for a dead kid there could have always been a recruited adult.

Either whoever had stirred up the guards against the Apprentices was a pea-brain, and Flavia had never faced such a kind of Templar, or was someone who knew only the kids.

Before she could speak her mind, however, she heard someone banging on the door.

Francesco and Paolo immediately leant against the doorframe and extended their respective blades.

"Identify yourselves!" Paolo snapped.

"Giovanni Borgia di Pedro Calderon!" a voice exclaimed from outside.

_Borgia?_ What was Borgia doing there, and why had he come back only then?

"What did you think about me when you saw me for the first time?" Francesco replied.

"With the clothes you were wearing… you looked like a magician to me!"

Francesco let slip a grin.

"Paolo… that's him! Open the door!"

Paolo quickly removed the bolt and opened the door.

It really was Borgia, and there was Maria Amiel, the alchemist from Basel, with him. Just… he wasn't the usual Borgia.

He had glassy eyes, he looked even more troubled than Benvenuto, and he was holding on to Maria.

"Who's she?" was Paolo's first question, even if judging by Francesco's face, he would have liked to ask another question to his former Apprentice.

"His wife" Maria Amiel said showing a ring on her hand. "Now if you excuse me… he's not well."

"What has happened?" Francesco immediately asked taking Borgia from her shoulders. "Have you been attacked? Are you hurt?"

Borgia shook his head and panted "Consus".

"What? You… you stopped talking about him when you were seven!"

"We were in an underground temple not so far from here" Maria explained. "He said he was convinced he would have found something in there… a member of your Order had looked for something in there and didn't find anything… we arrived in the last chamber, and there Giovanni touched a pedestal and…"

"And it blew up under his hand?" Cosimo folded his arms and sneered ironically.

Borgia laid his look on him and winced like if he had seen a ghost.

"He has flipped his lid" Cosimo shook his head.

Next to him, Marcello patted on his shoulder and told him "Nah, it's just you being the mirror image of your father as a kid. And you told me the robes you're wearing now were his when he was twelve…"

Borgia got rid of Francesco and dragged himself towards the center of the room.

"One of Those Who Came Before has talked through me. We are in danger." he examined those present with the gaze. He was looking for something, or maybe for someone. "If we do not act immediately… if a Brother will die tonight… there will be no hope for the Chosen One."

"I'm not letting _you_ act" Francesco approached him and pulled his arm over his shoulders. "The only place I want to see you in is the infirmary, and the soonest possible too."

He unceremoniously dragged him in the room where Cecchino and Anguillotto had already been laid in bed.

Paolo stepped forward and started giving instructions for the patrolling of the roads, and he was immediately sided by his wife Emiliana, by Zia Claudia and by Rosa.

The Apprentices, in the meantime, had started wandering around the room, some of them leaving it, discussing about what had happened and the potential danger. Arturo Spada, who knew almost no one, was standing in a corner and nervously nibbling at his lip. From under his sleeves, rolled up for the warm weather (Flavia was sure the young Lombard was used to colder climate) a twisted scar could be seen where the bullet wound, three years before, had been widened to extract the bullet and stitched. Some girls of the Brotherhood were staring at him, and Flavia couldn't help sneering. Arturo was eighteen years old, blond and muscular, and the scar on his arm only gave him a tougher look. Even if her companions wouldn't have dropped at his feet like any stupid Capitoline Goose, they were at least fascinated by him.

"Hey, Flavia!"

Marcello, Cosimo and Alessio had gathered in a corner and Alessio was gesturing her to get closer.

"What's come over all those girls?" Cosimo commented giving them a dirty look.

"I guess they have found a good match" Marcello smirked and shook his head, then he turned serious.

"Ragazzi, do you think what Borgia has said is true? About the Chosen One and the Brother who has not to die tonight?"

Alessio grimaced.

"The Chosen One? And who's he?"

"We don't know" Flavia intervened. "Our father caught a glimpse of him in Masyaf, but we don't even know why he was there. Just his name, Desmond."

Alessio opened his eyes wide and skipped on the spot.

"_Desmo_?"

"Des-_mond_. I think it's English" Cosimo mumbled. "How do you know him?"

"In the galleries. Marce', remember when I told you there's no such thing as ghosts?" Alessio explained. "I lied. I didn't want to scare you. There's one in the galleries under the Colosseum. Juno. I heard her talking to Des… Desmond when I was eight. As it seems she has it with him in some way."

"Juno!?"

If Alessio's reaction had been excessive, it was nothing compared to Marcello's.

"It all fits together… Mars… in Paris… Juno wants Desmond dead, Mars opposes to her… and maybe that Consus Borgia was talking about is on Mars's side!"

"But what could have Cecchino got to do with this all?" Flavia intervened. "Let's suppose that he could be the one who can't die tonight. How can the life or death of a single person have influence on the life or death of another who has nothing to do with him at all?"

Marcello folded his arms and took on a solemn look.

"The future" he announced. "Papà always talked about the Desmond facts as something future and remote. Probably, if Cecchino dies, a series of events will change that could prevent John from saving Desmond from Juno. Or if we're really talking about a distant future, try to imagine… this John could not even ever _be born_ just because…"

"Marcello… I don't get it" Cosimo interrupted him.

"Topastro! I'll explain. An old fortune-telling hag tells you your great-great-great-and-so-on-son will become King of England. But you only have one kid and he dies. So your great-grandson will never be born" Alessio explained.

"You're _so_ happy…" Cosimo lifted an eyebrow.

"Alessio, please, don't pull the hangman's feet. You have the bad habit of guessing right" Marcello commented. "By the way, I'm going to see Borgia. If he has really managed to create… well, you know what… he'll also know how to consult the books to use it. You try to look for the Alchemy lab of the Headquarters, mark the way with something, and make sure nobody is in there!"

He turned his heels and quickly walked towards the infirmary.

* * *

><p><em>It did not take long for us to find the lab. Artful little Cosimo as it seemed had taken an interest in alchemy in the two years he had spent in Venezia, and he immediately said he was sure we'd have found the lab near the outer walls, not so far from the privy, and far enough from the bedrooms to avoid fire hazard.<em>

_The knowledge Alessio and I had of the Headquarters did the rest._

* * *

><p>"These marbles are yours, aren't they, Cosimo?"<p>

Marcello emptied his hands in the sack Cosimo was handing him and pulled the Book Flamel had given him out of his satchel, making sure it stayed closed.

_Do not open it for any reason in front of the kid_, Borgia had said. _Only you, your sister… and… Alessio can See, can't he?_

He had to find a way to make Cosimo get out, and he also knew how.

"Listen, we shouldn't exactly be here" he said. "If someone comes around here, could you please drop the bag of marbles? It would make enough noise warn us and give us time to hide."

Cosimo let slip a grimace, but he nodded and answered "Va bene", then he got out of the room, the bag of marbles still in his hands.

Marcello felt like vermin shooing him away like that, but if it was for his own good this time, he had to do it.

He picked up the paper sheets he had snatched in the main hall, he got a pencil out of a pouch and he gestured to Flavia and Alessio to stay behind for good measure.

Time had come to make good use of the gift, like Mars had told him.

Now he _understood_. It was far too _obvious_. Mars had ordered him to save _someone_. Consus had explained Borgia _when_. And, probably, someone had told Flamel _how_.

But… was he certain of _who_? Cecchino was the only one in life danger that night… _until then_. What if someone else…?

"Marce', what are you waiting for?" Alessio burst out.

_If there'll be someone else… I'll save them too!_, Marcello told himself opening the Book.

Symbols started overwhelming his mind. He vaguely felt something wet and sticky under his nose, and heard Flavia's worried voice. He immediately closed the volume and with the pencil he still was holding in his right hand he started writing down without even knowing what he was writing.

The next thing he knew was that Flavia had started dabbing at his nose with a handkerchief and he was sitting with his back against a counter.

"Can you see us?" Alessio was saying waving a hand in front of his eyes. "Marce'! Do you recognize us? What happened?"

Marcello grabbed the handkerchief from Flavia's hands and finished cleaning his face on his own. He had had a nose bleed, but as it seemed it had stopped.

Borgia had said it would have happened.

He got to his feet and grinned to the two.

"It would have happened. Calm down. I'm all right."

He turned and picked up the sheet where he had taken notes.

"And we have what we need."

* * *

><p><em>My first fear was it could have been something difficult only an expert could have made. It wasn't. The Stone, if we want to consider it that way, was "ready for use", and it only took some drops of aqua regia for part of it to dissolve in a vial of water.<em>

_Just like the water Andreas had used in Paris, it did not seem at all it had been tampered with in any way. Neither the color nor the smell had changed._

_We decided to wait for the night to act._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Toccato = touché<strong>_

_**Coglioni= dicks. I think that's what you think about minstrels.**_

_**Porta San Gallo= San Gallo Gate, a gate in the Northern part of Florence.**_

_**Pezzo di merda= piece of shit**_

_**Mastro = master. "Messer" was for nobles and landowners and such, while Mastro was mostly for workers. And Benvenuto's father built musical instruments.**_

_**Puttanieri = whoremongers (And I think you recognized this particular word ;P Come on you're BOUND to know who kept saying it!)**_

_**Cretino = cretin**_

_**Cagasotto = poltroon, coward**_

_**- Yeah, it's "head or cross" in Italy, not "heads or tails". I decided to keep heads or cross first because it's a reference to the fact "heads" would mean free thought, and "cross" the Templars (it's not a case Alessio's coin HAS NO CROSS =P ), and then because ancient coins in Medieval and Renaissance Europe had a head and a cross.**_

_**- Berto Aldobrandi REALLY existed and was really killed by a guard with a two-handed broadsword and an azure feather on his cap. So, yeah, that brute has a cap.**_

_**- "Pull the (hangman's) feet" is an Italian common saying referring to someone anticipating something bad that might happen. An example is the classical mum telling us to get an umbrella before going out. If you don't remember, when Vanni in Chapter 5 said "he would have died in a bed before Roma had to be evacuated", Alessio told him to watch out for his promises, and this should explain why Marcello says Alessio has the bad habit of guessing right.**_

_**The chapter was meant to be longer, but writing I noticed it was TOO MUCH. So I cut part of the scenes, and they'll be in next chapter.**_

_**If I'm not making another Christmas special (do you remember? The pilot episode of THIS story was a Christmas special!) I'll say Merry Christmas already now. Hoping Santa brings me The Casual Vacancy, AC Encyclopedia 2.0 and an AC hoodie. Or maybe a new winter hat. Or money I can save for a comic festival.**_


	21. A Story to Rewrite

_**It was VERY important for me to upload this today. Exactly one year ago - even if Bowden STILL smells - I got the Revelations book. I would have bought an Xbox360 some days after, and the final part of the chapter, the one involving the Modern Assassins, is set TODAY.**_

_**By the way, according to Initiates, Rockport is the city where the Homestead is today, Matt "Smeagol" Ackermann and Ayden Kartal appeared in the Christmas special "Ghosts of Christmas Past", and Jack's "Stop Wars" hoodie actually exists. Just like Marcello, he likes green a lot.**_

_**If you follow me on Youtube, stay on alert. Tomorrow, the fanfiction is turning one year old, and just like the time I went to Florence, I MIGHT make a video log...**_

* * *

><p>Chapter 20<p>

A Story to Rewrite

_Night between May 26 and 27, 1529, Roma, Headquarters hospital_

The room would have been unnaturally silent if it had not been for Anguillotto's snoring and Cecchino's moans.

They were both asleep, but Cecchino had his forehead covered in sweat and was grimacing in pain. Marcello would have sworn it, the wound had gotten infected. Just… it even seemed worse than Vanni's case.

He had already started panting like Vanni had done two or three days after. What if it was too late?

"You understood… haven't you?" Borgia's voice immediately resounded in the room.

"Didn't Francesco want you to stay in bed?" Marcello replied uncorking the vial.

"I never needed much sleep."

Marcello stayed silent for a moment before replying "Neither do I". Borgia grinned.

"What are you waiting for?"

"What if it's too late?"

"You do it. What could you lose?"

Marcello lifted Cecchino's covers from the foot of the bed. Luckily, the Assassin was only wearing a nightshirt, and the wound wasn't covered by anything but bandages, which Marcello cut open with his hidden blade.

He immediately regretted it: the wound was _visibly_ infected, smelled, oozed pus and was definitely not a good sight. Marcello made two steps backwards, caught his breath, got some clean bandages from a drawer and wet some of them with the tampered water, pouring the remainder of it directly on the wound.

He mentally thanked all the practice he had made in the field hospitals and bandaged the wound again, putting the wet bandages first.

He already knew he would not have slept for the rest of the night.

"Do you think he'll make it?" he asked getting close to Borgia's bed. He sat up, then stood up and patted his shoulder.

"I can't say it. Maybe." He grinned and shrugged. "But you did what you could. And then… I don't know, but he looks to have calmed down a bit."

He sat down again.

"So you have it, huh? I'll be honest with you, Marcello, I had hoped until the end it would have fallen into my hands. The Stone brings back the dead. I had hoped to bring Medici back… and, the irony, the Stone ends up in his Apprentice's pouch."

"You wouldn't have solved anything. I tried it, too." Marcello replied.

"And…?"

"What kind of life would it have been? Probably he would have had to go into hiding or to leave Italia. And then again…" Marcello said pacing back and forth. "… he _thought_ he had left nothing unfinished. He thought he had left everything in good hands."

He stayed silent for a moment. He fumbled in a pouch and pulled out an old letter written three years before.

"This was meant for you."

He shoved it in his hands and left the room.

* * *

><p><em>After a night spent patrolling, Francesco decided the situation was calm enough for us to go out, even if <em>_without__ getting too far from the adults, __without__ approaching any guard, and overall staying only on Tiber Island._

_For me and Marcello it was not a problem at all, the house Mamma had gotten in Roma four years before, and where we lived then as the situation in Firenze was getting bad, was almost in the same street as the Headquarters, but Benvenuto's workshop was quite far from there, in the Vaticano district, so Alessio had to stay at our place for a while._

* * *

><p><em>May 27, 1529, Roma, Tiber Island, near one of the bridges<em>

"I should suggest Benvenuto to make his own workshop in the Headquarters, too" Alessio was grumbling. "I left all my stuff in there. Speaking of which, Marce', did I tell you about my idea?"

"You told me." Flavia hinted at a grin. "Marcello yesterday was with Cosimo and the soldiers, remember?"

Alessio ran a hand through his hair and nodded.

"Huh, _già_."

He cleared his throat and extended his hidden blade.

"You see, Marce', the Assassins have a blade that can be concealed and drawn before one has the time to say "bah", no?"

"Got it."

Alessio moved a bit his arm and wrist, moving the blade up and down.

"But you can't control it, if not with your arm. Controlling it directly with your hand would be easier, no? Just like you would handle a knife."

Marcello raised his scarred eyebrow, then he made a face.

"I don't think it's possible."

"It would be, if there was a handle and the blade could pivot. And here my drawings could help" Alessio sighed.

"What drawings?"

A short, pudgy boy with ridiculously cut brown hair, a nose turned up in a permanent snobbish expression, and two taller boys behind, sprang up in front of them.

"_Savona_." Alessio jumped to his feet and immediately stood in front of Flavia and Marcello.

"Sì, I'd say your family name, too, such a shame you don't have one" Checco Savona, the boy exiled three years before, replied.

In those three years, Flavia thought, the cretin had not changed at all. She still remembered when, as far as they had deduced, Attilio, the former leader of the street urchins, had scared him so much he had let the urchins in the Headquarters and let them grab everything they could. As soon as Ricoveri had started asking him questions, he had started whimpering and had confessed.

"Funny how you were still with us when we came to know it" Flavia could not help replying.

"As for you two… _cazzo_, I'm surprised at ya" Alessio shook his head and addressed the two behind Checco. "Cristiano and Pierino. You were far better as Attilio's apes, at least he had balls!"

Checco clenched his fists, but he did nothing. He had surely learned at his own expenses that trying to hit Alessio was no kid's play.

Then, he looked at Flavia and sneered.

"What about you, Flavia? You really keep sticking to that ginger loser and that wretch over there? There are far better companies than that son of a…"

_Oh, no, not this_, Flavia thought. Her brother would have flared up, at the least.

True to form, Marcello stepped forward, raised his fists, and hissed "How dare you?"

What she had not expected was Alessio's reaction.

If Marcello had restricted himself to threats, Alessio had charged at Checco and hit his face with a fist.

He didn't have the time to attack again: one of the two apes, Pierino, grabbed his shoulders and tried to put his hands to his throat.

Alessio was not caught unaware: he opened his arms and knocked Pierino's hands away from his neck, then he knocked him out with a headbutt and immobilized him. As it seemed, the few lessons he had gotten from Jun had been of some use.

Behind Alessio, Cristiano tried to take him from behind, but Marcello had already seen him moving and grabbed his neck from behind.

Those two were former street urchins. They had an improvised fighting style, without any training or basics. If they might have had gotten the best of him when Alessio had had no fight training whatsoever, they were disadvantaged now Alessio had four years of training on his side… and an equally trained friend.

Seeing the situation was in his disfavor, Checco tried to run away, but Flavia ran after him and tackled him to the ground, then, before he had time to stand up again, she knelt on his chest and pinned him to the ground.

It felt like if she was kneeling on a waterskin.

Cristiano and Pierino, the first with a bad nosebleed and the latter with a blue circle around an eye, had preferred taking their heels, leaving Marcello and Alessio free to pick on the person concerned.

As soon as Flavia had stood aside, Alessio grabbed Checco's shirt collar and lifted him up.

"And what about you, _cagasotto_? You let a girl floor you!"

Without his apes behind him, Checco looked loads weaker than he had appeared only moments before. He whimpered and stuttered, and he seemed to be on the edge of wetting his pants.

"Speak one more word to my girlfriend, _stronzo_, and I'll lubricate all the hidden blades of the Brotherhood with your blubber!"

He let him go, pushing him on the ground, where a horse had just passed, leaving some dropping on the pavement.

Checco quickly stood up again, getting even more covered in horse shit, and scooted away towards the Centro district.

"Did you really have to?" Flavia lifted an eyebrow, folded her arms and shook her head. She had the slight impression she had completely mimicked Papà's playful reproach tone, but she didn't mind it too much.

"What? Calling you my girlfriend?" Alessio faked the most innocent smile. "I thought we already were together in all but name."

"Got that, got that. I'm leaving you alone" Marcello chuckled, turned his heels and started walking towards the entrance of the Headquarters.

As Marcello closed the door behind himself, Alessio grinned.

"Your brother will never change."

"Well neither will you" Flavia instinctively replied getting closer to him. "Really, Alessio, I can take care of myself, so please next time let me reply. _Va bene?_"

"_Va bene_" Alessio nodded. "It's just… I couldn't stand him flirting at you that way. You're important for me, Flavia. You're very dear to me. I feel like an _idiota_ every time I look at you, yet if that is being an idiota, then I'm more than happy to be one… I mean, do you get it?"

Flavia nodded and whispered "Sì". Alessio had never told her such things, even if he had proved them in the previous years.

He had given up his usual proud look, his hands were twitching and he was rubbing a foot on the ground.

"Now stop fidgeting and calm down. I'm not going to smack you" Flavia told him holding his hands.

* * *

><p><em>Strange as it could have been our story, for once, the very first time, we finally kissed like a normal girl and boy who loved each other.<em>

_I won't say our worries did not exist in that moment. But they looked so far… for a moment, finally, I did not have my mind on guards, the Brotherhood, all the people I had seen die, all the threats in our way._

_We were finally happy._

* * *

><p>In the entrance hall of the Headquarters the situation had almost come back to normal. Cosimo was crouched in a corner playing with his marbles, Francesco was behind the desk with Paolo in front of him, and Giuseppe and Costanza were playing chess.<p>

Benvenuto, Liberata, and her husband Corrado Aieta were in the middle of the room, the three of them visibly worried. Little Elisabetta, who was learning to speak in that very period, kept asking "Dove zio?"

"Zio Cecchino is tired, sweetie, he went bye-byes" Benvenuto picked her up and tickled her to try to take her mind off the matter.

Marcello approached them and immediately addressed Benvenuto.

"Is… he better?"

"He didn't snuff it" Benvenuto mumbled. "But he's got the fever and he has been sleeping since yesterday evening. He didn't open his eyes one single time."

He sighed, put Elisabetta down and encouraged her to walk a bit. The toddler crawled until the nearest wall, then she stood up and tried to walk around the room with a hand on the wall.

"You know, Marcello… Cecchino as a boy literally worshipped Capitano De'Medici… I can't use another word, since he saved us from a gang of bullies he always trotted behind him. Always eager to draw attention, always looking for attention…" Even if he kept his look on his niece, Benvenuto was visibly worried. "I think he wanted his friendship or something like that."

"Well he surely didn't show it" Marcello commented. "In Venezia, he always looked on the point of telling him to shove off."

"Sour grapes" Liberata folded her arms. "Even if Cecchino has been in the Bande for some years. As a soldier. After at least three or four pleas. I think he really took him as a role model, because just after he found out about you, he took Berto as his Apprentice."

"Didn't that happen after Benvenuto took Alessio?" Marcello hinted at a grin.

Benvenuto was up to reply, but everyone's attention was drawn by a quite loud complain by Cosimo: Elisabetta had approached him and was picking and tossing his marbles.

"Could you take back this _sportspoiler_?" Cosimo had picked Elisabetta up the best way he could and was bringing her back to her parents.

"No, Cecchino started training Berto before we knew about Alessio" Liberata intervened taking Elisabetta from Cosimo's arms. "Lisa, why did you toss Cosimo's marbles?"

"Boy!" Elisabetta squealed pointing at Cosimo, who turned purple and stepped backwards towards Marcello.

"Please, don't tell Alessio!"

Marcello raised his right hand and grinned.

"You have my word!"

Then, Liberata grabbed his wrist.

"What happened to your hand?"

"Nothing" Marcello quickly lowered his hand. He still bore marks where Cristiano had bitten him in the attempt to free himself from his grip.

"What happened to your hand, Marcello?" Francesco intervened and stood up.

Marcello stared at his feet.

"Alessio and I have come to blows with three _stronzi_ who had harassed Flavia. One of them was Checco Savona."

He could not lie to the Mentore. He would have found out the truth anyway.

"Checco Savona? Fatso Checco?" Costanza Simoni looked up from the chessboard. "Hadn't we banished him to Ostia?"

"Sì, but he ran North when the Lanzi arrived" Giuseppe replied. "Why would he want to come back?"

"One moment!" Benvenuto intervened. "Think about it, yesterday you talked about someone who knows the kids. And I think he does know them. Savona was, and I think he still is, a _poltroon_. Just as he may have thought an easy task picking on someone his size, maybe at the thought of fomenting the guards against an adult… someone who could face a whole patrol and live to tell the tale… he may have shit his pants. Probably his plan for yesterday was to make sure the guards killed the four Apprentices, _but_… he hadn't thought about Flavia, who has organized a reinforcement net, even if not before casualties, surely before all the four boys were killed. In sum, who else could have an interest in harming the kids? Think about it. He could have an interest in harming them… because they're the only ones _in his reach_."

"We wouldn't even be in his reach if he was alone" Marcello replied. "Flavia was enough to floor him, and after it he could only squeal like a slaughtered pig."

Francesco walked towards the middle of the room.

"These are only hypothesis, we cannot act without more certainties" he said as Paolo joined him. "As long as the dust does not settle, no one of the kids should leave the island, for no reason, and if it's possible the least number of the adults too."

"I'd put a tail on Checco" Giuseppe intervened.

"Sì, but who could? He knows all the Assassins of the city!" Costanza replied.

"Good job, Costanza!" Paolo exclaimed. "Go and look for Arturo Spada. Corrado Aieta, I'll need you, too. And if there's someone else who has never been here but for brief periods… anyone Checco Savona can't know! We need to find him and understand what he's up to!"

* * *

><p><em>Once he was inside again, Alessio started joking about how we could have found Checco anyway for the smell, but he did not protest for the new orders.<em>

_The Assassins lying in wait in the districts kept reporting the total absence of suspect movements. Francesco sent Arturo to watch the surroundings of the island, and he came back saying everything was calm, way too calm, and he had even challenged two guards to the dice without them showing the least hostility, and despite Checco Savona, still partly covered in horse poop, was a bit too much close to them, not recognizing him, had stayed calm and quiet._

* * *

><p>"Well, he doesn't know you. It's obvious that, had it been me, he would have started kicking up quite the fuss" Alessio commented folding his arms.<p>

"So, the kid is actually acting as the guards' provoker" Francesco mumbled.

"I'd suggest to make him lose his patience" Flavia intervened. "Let's give him some days. If he's trying to get revenge and he can't even see us around, sooner or later he'll get vexed and he'll make a false step. At that point he could get exposed."

"Nice one!" Benvenuto grinned.

"Savona knows where's the entrance of the Headquarters, though" Paolo intervened. "Losing his patience, couldn't he take the guards in here?"

"Let them come!" Giuseppe shook his head. "This is our home, we know it. We could trap 'em inside and stick it to 'em! Who can't fight can go to La Volpe Addormentata or the Caserma with the tunnels. They'll be trapped, we instead will have loads of weapons and gunpowder too!"

"Don't say gunpowder, or Alessio will get high!" Costanza joked, provoking the protest of the person concerned.

"Ha, ha, ha, you're so funny. Not."

Giuseppe clouded.

"As much as Checco can be pissed off, he'd never get too close to Mentore Francesco without wetting his pants."

"Or to Alessio, after what he has done" Flavia commented. "We should do something to let him know you are leaving the city."

"Sì, me leaving the city without Benvenuto" Alessio snorted. "It's more likely Borgia…"

"It's more likely I do what?" Borgia got out of the sickroom and close the door behind himself.

Alessio turned to him and looked defiantly in his eyes.

"Train an Apprentice" he replied.

Marcello joined him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Alessio, don't mind it. It doesn't matter."

He, too, looked at Borgia.

"I'd rather be alone than in bad company."

Borgia sighed and put a sheet in Marcello's hands, then he walked towards Francesco.

"If Benvenuto can lend me his clothes, I can pretend to be him and leave the city."

"Well, _col cavolo_ I leave the city with him! I'm not leaving Flavia here!"

"Maybe we could make Checco believe you have left the city. And instead, with me there will be someone quite as tall as you, some soot under the nose, and some of your old clothes on."

Flavia had the urge to burst into laughter, but she held herself back. She thought she had understood what was Borgia driving at, because in the last period, more or less, Alessio had gotten _quite as tall as Maria Amiel_.

With a hood, soot and maybe leaving during the night, Borgia and Maria could have really given the impression Benvenuto and Alessio were leaving Roma.

"We could even ask Sergio and Carmine to dress up as Francesco and Paolo and go to a nearby town as long as the trap isn't sprung" Marcello intervened. "If the Mentor and the Master are away… Checco or whoever is behind him will not wait for anything else!"

Alessio was literally chalky.

"_Forget it_" he hissed. "I'm not leaving my clothes to no one. Especially Borgia."

Benvenuto approached him and put his hands on his shoulders again.

"I have to do it too, you know?"

Alessio shook his head.

"I don't… they're mine! And clothes are expensive!"

"Not so much I can't afford new clothes for you."

"Benvenuto…"

"I would have bought you them anyway… your sleeves are way too short!"

"But…"

"No buts, Alessio. It's four years you're under my custody and it still hasn't crossed your mind you don't have to take care of yourself until you'll have your own workshop?"

Alessio pulled a face and sighed, then he shook his head.

"Va bene. But I'll only let them take my old vest and the pants Andreas ripped, and they can forget my father's cape."

* * *

><p><em>Arturo had to make another break-in in the city to find Sergio and Carmine. Francesco and Paolo lent them some of their clothes and some old vambraces and showed them for a while the way they walked and moved, then it was up to Benvenuto and Alessio, and Marcello and I, if not else to relieve Alessio from the embarrass, decided to go to the hospital wing to check on Cecchino.<em>

* * *

><p>"… so now Borgia, his wife, and two soldiers of the Bande will go to Narni pretending to be Benvenuto, Alessio, Francesco and Paolo" Flavia explained to Anguillotto, who despite being still bedridden was sitting and looked quite restless.<p>

"Why Narni?" Anguillotto shook his head.

"Well, I guess Francesco wants them to do things right" Flavia shrugged and grinned. "Narni is far enough to prevent tails from unmasking Borgia and the others and come back to warn Checco or anyone with him."

Marcello would have wanted to add that, as for tails, Borgia could have dispatched them in no time, but he still bore a grudge against him.

He walked towards Cecchino's bed. The Assassin seemed to be still asleep, but his face was calm. Every now and then he stirred, but he made no other motion.

"Huh, check him out. It doesn't even seem he was hit in the knee" Anguillotto commented. "Until yesterday night he was whining like a sissy. And now he's sleeping like a squirt."

Marcello was up to say that he would have never said "sissy" if he had been him, but Flavia had already lost her patience and had sprung forward.

"Eat your words!" she shouted raising her fists.

Anguillotto pulled a face and moved his head sideways like a bird.

"What?"

"Man, did you forget it was a girl who raised the alarm so help could arrive in time?" Marcello commented.

"Wut… sup?" Cecchino intervened, with a furry tongue and skipping some vowels.

He opened his eyes. Then, he looked around. He tried to sit up.

"Alessio! They were attacking him! Did he get hit? Is he all right?"

Flavia turned to him and grinned.

"You're awake!"

Cecchino smirked.

"Of course I am! What's with the question?"

Marcello grinned, picked up a stool and sat near his bed, Flavia couldn't help noticing, in a way not too different from what he had done in the past with Giovanni De'Medici.

"You frightened us all out of our wits. Benvenuto and Alessio overall… Alessio even started crying. I had never seen him cry before. And me, too… I thought you were up to end up like Vanni, man."

Cecchino hinted at what could have been a bitter grin.

"What happened to me?" he asked then, looking around disoriented.

"You took a bullet to the knee" Anguillotto cut short.

Cecchino stayed silent and looked around again. If he had forgotten something or he had been too much stunned to notice, now he seemed to have understood everything.

"Well, I could believe old Benvenuto has almost dropped dead. An idiota hitting my head with a pebble was enough for him to start acting as a time-wasting Good Samaritan!"

"By the way, I'll go and look for him!" Flavia announced walking towards the exit.

"While you are at it, look for the surgeon too and ask him when I can go home!" Anguillotto shouted as she went away.

"I'd stay calm and still if I were you, or you'll tear the stitches." Marcello chuckled. "I can lend you some books by the way, you'd better use the time in bed to do something."

Anguillotto snorted and turned away.

"I'm sorry for Berto" Marcello broke the silence that had been created in the room. "He had gone after Daniele only to try to stop him. It shouldn't have ended up this way. Losing a master hurts too much already…"

Cecchino sighed.

"Those guards weren't acting on their own. I mean, they aren't into killing boys just because they're following them…"

"Già. Benvenuto thinks Checco Savona has stirred them up" Marcello explained. "All in all, he's right in my opinion. He'd be the only coward who could set the guards only on young Apprentices moving in small groups."

Cecchino took a palm to his forehead, then lifted the covers and removed the bandages to check on his knee.

Where until the night before there had been a swollen wound oozing pus, now there was only an injury that, despite looking bad, appeared perfectly in recovery.

Marcello had never seen nothing like that: all the firearm wounds he had seen oozing pus, since he had had memory of them, had taken the soldiers to the grave if the limb wasn't immediately amputated.

What he was looking at looked more like a cold steel wound, and a few days old in the bargain.

It had worked. Cecchino was out of the woods.

"If it was a bullet, then it was the dumbest one in the world" he commented covering hastily the wound and getting back under the blankets. "I wish your master had been as lucky as me. He did not deserve that death."

Marcello made an effort to smile.

"I wish there were more people like you instead…" he sighed. "Alessio just could not comprehend the reason why you saved him."

"He is all right, isn't he?"

Marcello nodded.

"That young man has wounds that maybe will never heal. But since I've seen him the first time, in Venezia, he's another person. He is special, he has always been. He helps others without thinking of his own interest. I remember Benvenuto mentioned he pulled quite the prank on you about a portrait of your father…"

"Già… he had nicked it without telling me he wanted to make a copy. I almost broke his nose with a fist when I found it out."

Cecchino chuckled and was up to say something, but in that moment the door opened, and Flavia, Benvenuto and Liberata entered the room.

As soon as he had crossed the doorway, Benvenuto broke into a rush and stopped by his brother's bed, shouting "You're alright!" and sitting on the edge of the bed. Cecchino laughed, shook his head and whispered to Marcello "What did I tell you?".

Marcello lifted his shoulder and murmured "Older siblings!" in the same tone. He had not finished speaking when Flavia seized him from behind and scratched his head with a fist.

"Già, older siblings" Liberata chuckled getting close in turn.

Francesco and Paolo, too, entered the room and approached Cecchino's bed.

"Good afternoon, Cecchino" Francesco began. "How are you feeling?"

"A complete wreck, _grazie mille_, and if you take away from me this tick of a brother I'll be even more grateful."

Francesco addressed Flavia and asked her to send Arturo for the surgeon to make another check up.

"Listen, now your face is known to the guards and the people. If in any way they get to know you're healing, you could be wanted by the guards, put on trial and imprisoned, if not worse."

Cecchino's grin immediately froze.

"You must leave the city, and possibly even the Papal State" Francesco resolved.

"Sì, like if Firenze was a good place to stay in these times" Cecchino fumed.

"Indeed" Francesco nodded. "As soon as dust will settle, Pietro, Arturo and Cosimo will go back to Venezia. And you will leave with them."

* * *

><p><em>I think Cecchino would have complained loudly, and Benvenuto would have done the same, if they had not had the Mentor in front of them. But there was a lot to do, Cecchino still needed rest, and we also had to scheme a plan to catch Savona unprepared.<em>

_When we left the room again, Marcello stayed behind. He borrowed Carmine's deck of cards and had some games with Cecchino._

_As soon as Cecchino could move, on crutches, in the tunnels until the old Caserma D'Alviano, Sergio, Carmine, Borgia and his wife staged the exodus to Narni, and we put into action a plan to trap any intruder who tried to attack the Headquarters._

* * *

><p><em>June 5, 1529, Roma, Headquarters<em>

It had been five minutes since bangs on the door could be heard. It was more than sure someone was trying to knock it down, but the Assassins let them do it. Once the door was open, whoever was trying to get in would have dashed inside, and if the door was in conditions good enough to close it behind the attackers, surrounding and dispatching them would have been far too easy.

Alessio, lying in wait next to the door, kept counting the time passing between a bang and another. As soon as he was sure the rhythm was regular, he flung the door open a moment before the attackers hit it.

Half a dozen guards swooped inside, and Alessio quickly took advantage of their rush to close the door behind them.

From shadowed corners, well-aimed crossbow bolts silenced the guards.

Alessio opened the door again and made more guards fall into the trap.

"Out, NOW, before the others escape!" Francesco ordered racing forward.

Alessio didn't wait to hear it again and slipped through one of the secondary exits. In the corner of his eye, he saw Flavia running past him, and kept running outside, impaling with his hidden blade a guard who got too close to her.

The advice Jun had given him to make up for his difficulties in cold steel fights seemed to work, just like the metal cestus and the iron pads on his shoes he used to hit the guards in sensitive spots so they could be exposed to the blows of the blade.

Three guards, four, five, fell under his blade, and a sixth collapsed after a blow of his gun.

It was an open fight, and they had the advantage of numbers. Even for a boy his age there was no risk to be pinned to the wall like Antonio and Anguillotto some days before.

Alessio and Flavia, together, were making their way through the battle, towards the river banks. Checco Savona was there, half hidden behind a low wall, always keeping a distance and protected by his two dickheads.

He noticed him. He tried to run, followed by his two worthy accomplices.

At a point, a bang echoed, and Checco fell flat on his face, as a bloodstain widened beneath his foot.

Alessio smirked: there was only one Assassin who could have an obsession with aiming to that spot, and he was called Marcello Auditore.

As the battle still raged, and Benvenuto pursued some guards with his sword raised, Alessio and Flavia approached Checco, who was crawling on the ground in the attempt to get away, leaving a red trail behind. Marcello was not too far, and he was catching up with them.

"Your lovely buddies didn't think twice about leaving you here, I see" Alessio commented seizing Checco by the shoulders and making him sit against the parapet of the bridge.

"Fuck you" Checco grumbled clutching his wounded foot.

Flavia approached him and knelt so she could look in his eyes.

"Ricoveri had given you the chance to make a new life for yourself" she told him. "Why did you come back? And overall, why did you come back and harmed us?"

Checco did not answer and spat at her face.

"Swine!" Alessio punched his face. A gash appeared on Checco's cheekbone. He started whining.

"A boy…" he panted. "I was in Bologna… he knew about the Assassins… name was Lorenzo. But I don't know anything else, really, he only told me he would have paid me well if…"

"Lorenzo what?" Flavia insisted. "Speak!"

"I don't know! He just had an accent… like yours!"

"So he's a Florentine. But what could be a Florentine doing in Bologna?" Alessio mumbled. "And what interest could a boy have in wanting us dead?"

"Fuck you, bastardo!" Checco replied.

Maybe he had understood he had no way out, and he didn't think anymore at saving his own skin, but at making them angry.

"You had no respect for the lives of people who called you a friend and a brother" Flavia hissed at him, anger in her voice. "For what? Money? Petty revenge for something you deserved? Even if you were sorry we could not forgive you."

She extended her hidden blade.

"Anything else, Savona?"

He remained frozen on the spot, a snarl on his face.

"Sì. _I hate you_."

Flavia bit her lip. Alessio could guess she would have never wanted to take a life like that. She had played with Checco years before. They had never been friends, but no one could have said they were enemies either.

"I wish I did not have to do it" Flavia said as she ended the boy's life. "_Requiescat in pace._"

* * *

><p><em>I would have never wanted to end it like that, but my hands were tied. Checco Savona was a danger for the Brotherhood and letting him live would have meant breaking the third tenet.<em>

_It was done. The threat had been averted and we had a new name to track down, at least here in Italia._

_Benvenuto, Corrado and Liberata personally tracked down and assassinated every guard seen attacking Apprentices or assailing the den, and while June reached its half, Marcello and Cosimo spent more and more time talking to Cecchino, whose mood was worsening as he gradually recovered his strength._

* * *

><p><em>June 12, 1529, Roma, Old Caserma d'Alviano<em>

It was the same old scene for Marcello. He had seen many people leaving, and he told himself he should have called himself lucky to see Cecchino leave on horseback under the arches of Aqua Marcia instead of in a casket in the church of San Giovanni dei Fiorentini, where Benvenuto had buried the body of the harquebusier that had shot his brother, faking Cecchino's death.

It was hard anyway, though, even just saying goodbye to Pietro, Arturo and Cosimo.

They would have left in hours, and Cosimo did not seem to be willing to get away from Marcello.

"Are you really sure you can't come with us?" was the question he asked more often.

Marcello hinted at a grin.

"It wouldn't be the first time I'd leave. But I guess I couldn't do it without a teacher, and Pietro has already you and Arturo…"

"Boother. But no one really wanted you? I say, it's been three years! And you surely don't jinx people, I'm your friend and nothing happened to me."

Not so far, Flavia and Alessio were chatting and holding hands. Alessio seemed quite proud of his new dark blue robe, and with that and his cape, he really looked like a different person.

Marcello almost did not believe how much had he changed since their roads had crossed, that cold January morning in Roma, in the same day he had met Vanni.

Probably, Vanni would not have changed at all, had he been alive.

Marcello _felt_ different, instead. He was almost fifteen years old, he no longer had a bowl cut like when he had been a small boy, he had a sword, and the last time he had looked at himself in a mirror, he had been amazed by the resemblance he had with Papà's portrait on the poster.

Four years had passed, almost five, since he had taken that way and started his apprenticeship, but now he looked at them with the wisdom of hindsight, they looked like a lifetime. He no longer was that small boy, no more little Marcello who started crying for the smallest thing, had middle-length hair and kept his toy sword like a precious treasure.

Yet he always was Marcello Auditore, born in Fiesole on October 21, 1514, who had learned to read and write before turning five and knew a bit of Latin, a bit of French, a bit of Greek and even Turkish, who adored the color green and would have done anything to give to the ragmen every Sunday best of the whole world.

Cecchino and Pietro were busy talking to Francesco and Benvenuto. Marcello could not hear what they were saying, but at a point, he managed to read "And history repeats itself" on Francesco's lips, then the Mentor left the group and walked towards Flavia.

"Know what, Marcello?" Cosimo intervened. "When I was little, my father told me that when he was almost fifteen, he met your father under that aqueduct over there. Just he didn't know he was your father. Your father left and mine stayed. And now it's the opposite."

"Well, not necessarily" Cecchino said catching up with them. "Your father _chose_ to stay, Cosimo, like the Mentor chose to leave. It could have gone in a different way. Just like things could change today. History repeats itself only if we let it do so. But… we can choose to rewrite it."

Cosimo laughed.

"One can really see you have studied classics!" Marcello commented.

Cecchino laughed in turn, then sighed and closed his eyes for a moment.

"Va bene, can we talk about serious matters now?"

Cosimo, who still was laughing, immediately fell silent, and Marcello kept still and quiet.

"Marcello, you do not have a teacher, and I have lost my student. I don't want to consider you a substitute in any way, I have enjoyed your company in these days, you are an extraordinary young man and I would be more than proud if you… well, if you corrected me the way you used to correct your first teacher."

Marcello was speechless. He thought he was supposed to expect it, after what Benvenuto and Liberata had told him in the previous days, but the request had surprised him anyway.

"Are you… joking?" was the only way he could reply.

"Excuse me" Cecchino grinned again. "I just asked you if we could talk about serious matters, and you ask me if I'm _joking_? I'm serious, Marcello. You'd leave today with us. Unless, obviously, you want to go on with Francesco and stay here."

"I…"

"Well, if you don't want to leave your mother and sister, I can understand."

"No, Cecchino, I… well, I had other Assassins offering themselves to train me. You've been the first who didn't ask me for my family name. I'm glad you asked me, or rather… I accept."

* * *

><p><em>Marcello's choice did not surprise me, even if maybe it saddened me a bit.<em>

_Like the first time with Giovanni De'Medici, he almost slipped away, with very few time to pack, even if at least this time he could say goodbye to our mother._

_Probably things were meant to end this way. I doubt that, had he stayed in Roma, my brother would have become what he is now. Probably it's not really about Cecchino, but I can't deny he influenced._

_Francesco, and Giovanni Borgia and Giovanni dalle Bande Nere after him, said that losing someone dear was like if one had broken his knees: it could have taken years before he could stand again, if he ever would._

_Marcello was once more on his feet._

* * *

><p><em>January 6, 2013 – Assassin Headquarters in Rockport – 7.55 pm local time<em>

"Um… Desmond… hey, Desmond?"

A young man had entered the room. His light brown hair was badly cut and even more badly combed, his jeans were ripped on the knees and he wore a quite worn aviator jacket, but he was clean-shaven and his hooded sweater, green with a "stop wars" on it, looked clean and new.

To sum it all he looked like a too-grown child, which was kind of odd, if the man in front of Desmond really was an Assassin.

"Do I… know you?" he asked, setting the book aside.

"Uhm… no. You were out cold when I met you" the big boy rubbed a foot on the ground and put his hands in his pockets. "But I know you. I was in the van with your dad and the team all the way here. And I know Rebecca and Shaun too."

His face was turning red.

"And your name would be…?" Desmond asked standing up and holding out a hand.

"John. John Andrew Newell. But you just call me Jack, okay?"

Desmond half expected Jack to shake his hand, but he led him out of the room, through the same hallway in which Desmond had met Rebecca and Rusty the day before.

"So you're the Animus victim in these days" Desmond tried to break the ice. "Anything we could use?"

"Not yet" Jack grinned and pointed at a flight of stairs leading downwards. "I just synched again the memory with Mars in the catacombs. We're analyzing his speech, there are still loose ends in it too."

"Loose ends?" Desmond asked. Now he thought about it, the hallway looked familiar.

"Andreas's descendant. Mars said he, or she, is a companion of yours" Jack explained. "Just, he might not even be an Assassin, so we… the Watchmen… tried to retrace all of your steps from your escape to your capture. Talking about that, did you get any friends in those nine years? Anyone you might have called a companion?"

In another case, Desmond would have snapped Jack's head off for him talking about such delicate matters, or would have least asked him what the Watchmen were. But the place seemed too familiar, and he did not pay attention to the twenty-two – year – old's words, his mind stuck on trying to remember where had he seen that place.

The rather new furniture and the electric lights just looked out of place. The building seemed too old for them.

"Jack, what's this place?"

"The Rockport Headquarters, obviously" Jack grinned. "Now, the Animus room is in the basement, I'll just have to…"

_Rockport._ Desmond had seen signs with that name on the roads when he had retrieved the Amulet. That could not be…

"This is Davenport Homestead!" he exclaimed as his eye fell on an old candelabra, the only one left among the electric lamps.

"Nah, this is Rockport Headquarters" Jack grabbed the hidden lever. "Davenport is the name on those three graves outside, though. It's one of the most ancient safehouses around, even if the Ikea furniture would beg to differ."

Desmond had to grit his teeth to prevent himself from cursing loudly.

"If we had known the Amulet was under the Assassins' nose in all this time…" he mumbled.

"If you wanna hide something, the best place is under everyone's nose" Jack resolved getting down in the basement. "I wish it was so easy for Andreas's descendant…"

He got off the staircase, stepped a bit aside, and cleared his throat.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the man we were waiting for, the hero and the savior, _ecco a voi_ Desmond Miles!"

Desmond descended the stairs, entered the room in the basement and looked daggers at Jack.

"Well, you are" Jack shrugged and grinned stupidly. "You become a hero after getting your own story. And yours, believe me, it's already legend."

Desmond looked around. The Animus was once again on a lounge chair and had been put near the wall where Connor had put away the robes he was not wearing. The armory was occupied by three computers, and a video projector that projected images on the wall where Achilles Davenport had hung the Templars' portraits.

Where once the dummy had been, a circle of chairs had been set, some of which were already occupied. Desmond could not help grinning when he noticed his father was on one of the chairs, but was puzzled when he noticed Rebecca and Shaun were standing _outside_ the circle.

"Welcome, Desmond" a fair-haired middle-aged lady stood up and shook his hand. She looked a lot like Jack, but had a pronounced Italian accent. "Beatrice Pagano. We're glad you made it here."

Shaun smirked.

"He's here because of your kid, Beatrice, did you forget it?"

Beatrice just ignored Shaun and turned to the people in the circle.

"Desmond… meet Matt Ackermann… Ayden Kartal… Amber Michel… and Tommy Ruan. We're a small delegation at the moment, but soon you'll meet the others around the world."

"Delegation of what?" Desmond asked.

"Welcome to the Watchmen, Desmond" Jack caught up with him. "We were born in 2000, during the Purge. After Cross's… let's call it hijacking, we tried to find by any means possible all the descendants of Assassins who made history and to protect them from Abstergo. If there had been another Cross case, we all knew it would have been the end. So we started keeping watch on anyone with a big descent. We were the ones who were sent after you when you ran. Clay Kaczmarek was found and recruited by us. And now… we have more problems to face, and we would be very proud if you joined us."

Desmond did not know what to say, but his father gestured him to take a seat.

"Let him decide later. We need to sum up the situation first."

As Desmond and Jack sat down, Ayden Kartal stood up and walked to a computer.

"First" he said as a picture of Juno filled the wall screen. "She's out there, and she's plotting. We don't know her next move, but she's alone, and she'll surely need allies at least for the present time. Powerful allies, like even the Templars. For now, we have the advantage of numbers, but I don't know for how long. And if she gets a strong alliance with the Templars before we have achieved something, _we're doomed_."

Juno left the place to the Abstergo logo.

"As for them, we may have struck hard on their Inner Sanctum" Ayden said as the pictures of Warren Vidic, Daniel Cross and Otto Schmidt were placed on the top of the logo. "But the war is far from being won. Daniel Cross has been replaced by a Juhani Otso Berg, the same man who indirectly caused Maestranzi's death. We do not know the replacements for Schmidt and Vidic, but if they have not been replaced they will be soon."

The picture faded, changing to the image of two boys standing in a tunnel and Mars in front of them.

"We do not know if _he_ can be called an ally. Flavia's book, or the few information we have taken from it, _definitely_ depicts him as one. We need further research before having the last word on him."

"Further research?" Jack intervened standing up. "What else do we need? Desmond is alive and well. Why shouldn't we put our trust in him when he has helped us?"

"Lucy seemed to help us too" Matt Ackermann commented. "And not even the Erudito Collective found out she was trying to screw us all!"

"_Lavati la bocca_, _Smeagol_." Jack walked to Matt and hissed.

"Jacky, go home, you're drunk" Matt seized him by the shoulders and took him back to his seat.

Desmond gave Ackermann a dirty look and whispered "Bleeding Effect" to try to make him understand he should have taken it easy.

"You sure? The kid here speaks Italian as well as he speaks English."

"_Excuse me_?" Ayden Kartal intervened from his workspace. "We still have one more issue to discuss, and I would like to go on."

He pointed at the screen, where there was one more picture, the confront of an Animus screenshot and a sixteenth-century portrait. Desmond recognized the portrait of Andreas he had been shown earlier by Shaun. The boy in the screenshot, grayish blue Apprentice robes, chestnut hair and huge ears, could not be anyone but the same person.

"Andreas van Wesel's descendant. Whether Mars is an enemy or an ally, he mentioned that a descendant of this Assassin will do something like hold the balance of power along with Jack or stuff like that. And the only thing we know about him is that he, or she, is close to Desmond."

"He. Two _men_" Jack clarified. "Just, he could be anywhere."

_Anywhere_, Desmond thought. It would have taken ages to the Watchmen to find each and every person he had met in those nine years, convince them to cooperate, and examine their family trees… but Jack himself had told the best place to hide something… even someone, maybe… was under everyone's nose.

Desmond stood up.

"What if it's Shaun?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>Già = yeah, right<strong>_

_**Cazzo = dick, but in this case, as it's an oath, shit.**_

_**Cagasotto = poltroon**_

_**Stronzo = turd, assho**__**le**_

_**Dove zio? **__**(baby talk) = where uncle?**_

_**Lanzi = landsknechts**_

_**Col cavolo = like Hell**_

_**Va bene = OK**_

_**Grazie mille = thanks a lot**_

_**Ecco a voi = here he is**_

_**Lavati la bocca = wash your mouth**_


	22. A Letter to the Future

_**And the curse of transition chapters strikes back.**_

_**Now I'm also having an exam next week – and the teacher has the fame of being a bi… ahem, a Templar… but I'm not letting this stop me from writing.**_

_**I'll graduate in July, just so you know, and I've only got three exams left. I hope my next degree doesn't take me too far from home, 'cause I still want to study electric guitar and I want to keep on acting.**_

_**By the way, I MIGHT rewrite the prologue, and I'm going to start uploading the story on Tumblr too, both in English and Italian.**_

_**Oh and I have a "public" facebook page on which I'm giving trivia, I'm showing my fanart and the readers' drawings. I'll also upload pictures of my "ideal cast" for the story. There's already some trivia on good old Vanni. Name of the page is JediKnightMarina55, so if you have Facebook, just pay a visit!**_

_**(the song is by Coldplay - the fish rhyme is taken from "The Lord of the Rings")**_

* * *

><p><em>I turn the music up, I got my records on<em>

_From underneath the rubble sing a rebel song_

_Don't wanna see another generation drop_

_I'd rather be a comma than a full stop_

_Maybe I'm in the black, maybe I'm on my knees_

_Maybe I'm in the gap between the two trapezes_

_But my heart is beating and my pulses start_

_Cathedrals in my heart_

_(Coldplay – Every Teardrop is a Waterfall)_

* * *

><p><em>January 6, 2013 – Rockport Assassins' Headquarters<em>

"What if it's Shaun?"

Desmond's question was followed by silence, then Matt turned and looked in a definitely pale Shaun Hastings's eyes.

"Shaun?" Rebecca asked looking at him in turn.

"He could be" Tommy intervened. "Andreas's daughter did not enter the Brotherhood, all we know is that she got married in England. What if her descendants _never left it_?"

Desmond smirked and walked towards the center of the circle.

"The best place to hide something is under everyone's nose."

"Right: like Moaning Myrtle" Jack was mumbling and scratching his head. "In the Harry Potter books, you know? She was at the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets and knew everything, just… no one had taken the trouble to ask her."

Desmond did not know who that Myrtle was, but he did not take the trouble to ask Jack for an explanation. One thing was for sure, the boy was a bookworm just like his ancestor.

"Looking for the Amulet we already made a mistake" he kept talking. "Or better, Juno made us, focusing our effort on tracing the Amulet through the memories when, had we thought about coming right here, probably we would have bought precious time. Okay, I met people in my nine years on the road. I was forced to have relationships with someone, even if I do not think there are people I might call friends among them. But how much would it take, convincing and examining each and every man who somehow helped me in my journey…"

He looked at Shaun and shook his head at him.

"When one of them, one with whom I spent a lot of time in the bargain, is right here in this room?"

Shaun pulled a face.

"Me? Don't talk nonsense. He wishes me to drop dead at least once a day!"

"Who knows why." Desmond rolled his eyes.

Matt Ackermann stood up in turn.

"By the way, Desmond is right" he said. "Shaun, Animus. And then we'll see if you're still _nobody_. Amber, you keep an eye on the database."

Amber Michel jumped to her feet and took the tablet from Shaun, who reluctantly sat down on the lounge chair and waited for Rebecca to insert the catheter in his arm.

Desmond couldn't help laughing. After Shaun had begged to be in the Animus like Giovanfrancesco Cellini had begged to be in the Bande Nere, now he started to behave so childishly?

Jack instead had not taken the trouble to hold himself back and was roaring with laughter.

"Rebecca, link the video cable to the projector, let's try to check on what happens!" Ayden ordered.

As soon as Rebecca had connected a pair of cables and keyed in something from her computer, on the wall appeared the projection of what for Desmond had been the familiar corridor of memories. Just, there was Shaun in it.

A loading icon flashed in a corner, and in Shaun's place appeared the shape of a teenage boy in white and light blue clothes, with big ears and thick eyebrows, a filthy rag tied to his belt and a scar on his left forearm.

The loading icon flashed again, and in the bottom left corner of the screen appeared the notice "_Vienna – June 1532_".

"Ottoman Wars" Amber read out loud from the tablet. "Suleiman the Magnificent, or the Lawgiver, call him what you will, in 1529 and 1532 took the offensive against the Holy Roman Empire and tore Hungary from it. In both cases he was forced to leave the heavy artillery behind for bad weather, imposing himself a defeat at the gates of Vienna. But he did not leave the battlefield without losses for the Imperial army."

On the screen had materialized the picture of a room, a quite bleak one. Likely it was barracks.

The boy was helping a man with his same thick eyebrows and same hair color to gather some surgery tools and put them in a bag.

"See if you behave, son" the man was saying. "I brought you here only to make sure you're really focusing on your studies."

"Father…" the boy attempted to say. "I am studying. I really am. I like it. Just…"

"Do you think your father is deaf, Andreas? Or blind?" the man shoved the last tool in the bag. "I have received letters from your teachers. You're always absent-minded. You talk back. You're a bad example for your classmates and professor Van Hamme's daughter saw you walking _around graveyards at night_. What should people say about me?"

"The ones you call scholars, physicians and wise men have never really examined the human body" young Andreas replied. "The only time they really talked about human anatomy, they hardly showed us eight abdomen muscles, and in a pitiful state and in the wrong places, in the bargain!"

"It's your teachers you're talking about."

"Huh, so I should listen to them just because of their toga? I'd do a hundred times better than them right here, right now, in this fucking battle!"

As young Andreas walked towards the exit of the room, the very image of the room faded, leaving the place to the white corridor where the reflection of Andreas first and of Shaun then, was multiplied by those things that totally looked like shards of a mirror.

Jack was the first who spoke, and only let slip an Italian curse in the bargain. Shaun, instead, tried to stand up, took a hand to his forehead and mumbled he felt nauseous.

"Just think, Shaun, you just shoved yourself in the memories of a seventeen-year-old in the worst period of adolescence. And as I've seen, in the worst period of family matters too" Ayden Kartal commented.

"I know, I know, I had made an entry for Jack" Shaun grumbled leaning against the wall. "At the age of eighteen, Andreas left his parents' house for good and finished his studies in Paris. Where he could always count on Madame Merle who would have never, ever given him such a lecture like his old man, the stuffed shirt."

Just after he had finished talking, he noticed what he had just said and took a hand to his mouth.

"You don't really get it, Shaun?" Matthew got close to him and patted him on his shoulder. "You are the man Mars told us to look for. Desmond got it right!"

Shaun got back his bossy air and mumbled "It would be the first time".

"Guys, sit down, we're not done yet" Beatrice announced. "Shaun, it's better if you take a seat too, if you're really feeling dizzy and nauseous."

Shaun didn't let Beatrice say it again, took a chair from an empty desk and sat on it. Desmond, too, got back to his seat as the others went back to theirs, and Ayden linked back the projector to his computer.

"Last matter, but not the least at all."

The last photo examined was visibly unprofessional. There was a group of people, among whom Desmond recognized his father, Beatrice, and Jack with an oversized aviator jacket, all of them some years younger, along with a girl wearing a striped hat and clutching a small boy looking too much like her to be anyone but her brother, and, in the middle of the photo, a raven-haired, dark-skinned girl.

"As you may have deduced by the Animus sequences sold by Abstergo in the last months, they have a subject 18" Ayden announced pointing a laser pen on the girl's face. "And I'm afraid… it's Sarah Evans."

Jack sprang to his feet like if someone had stung his backside.

"They got _Sarah_? When?"

"She had gone dark to carry out some inquiries" Ayden explained. "But she had the bad luck to find herself in Whistler when Daniel Cross attacked there."

"And no one did anything?"

"When it happened, last September 12, the problems were many more. We are already lucky we have a witness, and if Adriano had not told Harlan, this piece of information would have died with him. Now, we've had news from Stefanie Madsen in Philadelphia – as it seems she saw Sarah in there. We'll need as soon as possible operatives to infiltrate the Abstergo facility in Philadelphia and help Stefanie to pull her out."

"Easier said than done" Matt intervened. "Sarah was one and Jack the other. And we don't know if Desmond is willing to stay."

"Stay?" Desmond asked. "What are you saying? I'm not planning to leave the Brotherhood!"

"Not the Brotherhood, Des. The Watchmen. You, and Shaun too, now I think about it, have a free ticket for our ranks" Matthew explained. "With you it was more than obvious actually, with both your parents in."

"And… where's the trick?"

"There's none" Beatrice intervened. "You'd keep doing what you already did for the Brotherhood. Just, you'd answer to us too. We need now more than ever to defend ourselves."

"_Quis custodiet ipsos custodes_?" was Shaun's usual cutting remark. "Who watches the Watchmen?"

"You should ask the Templars, Shaun" Matt replied. "It's them who don't get it."

"Anyway, I'm in" Desmond announced standing up "If your goals are Juno and no more Assassins used as Abstergo's guinea pigs, I'm with you."

"Good!" Jack grinned. "You'll need a codename, though."

"A what?"

"A codename. We use mostly fictional characters, so Abstergo is more than convinced we're just an online RPG and leaves us alone. Each of us has a name referring in some way to his or her real name, to his or her story, or his or her personality. For example, Matthew here is Smeagol, and I wish for you to never find out why, Amber is Hermione for all the books she carries around, Sarah is Eowyn because…"

"Don't waste time with this donkey, Jack" Shaun commented. "Desmond knows nothing about The Lord of the Rings. Or any other book series."

"Well if he really has no clue, I can suggest one" Jack raised his shoulders. "Starkiller, like the main character in The Force Unleashed game. He looks like his mirror image, and they have stories almost identical. And I also have to say that Starkiller does look like an Assassin in some levels."

"Video games? So much for a writer wannabe" Shaun gave Jack a bad look.

"What's the matter with you?" Desmond replied. "If it's just for low profile reasons, I'm more than okay with Starkiller. Heaven knows how many fake names I had to use, a codename is nothing."

"And now comes the worst" Shaun commented as William started: "Good. Desmond, gather your belongings. From now on, you'll share a room with Jack."

Desmond stood up and walked towards the staircase, not before asking Shaun "Would that be the worst?".

Sure, the boy was visibly weird. Or maybe, he looked so to Desmond because he had only heard about nerds. Jack definitely was one, but he also was the first Desmond had met in person, as nerds weren't exactly the average customers of night clubs, or, at least, night clubs like Bad Weather.

"Okay, the meeting is over" Beatrice was announcing as Desmond went upstairs. "We'll have another one at five p.m. tomorrow. You too, Shaun. As much as free will may exist, you have the right and the duty to be informed."

Jack was the first to catch up with Desmond, followed him to what had been his room and helped him to gather his stuff, despite they weren't so many to require two people to move them, then he led him to another room of the upper floor, occupied by a pair of bunk beds, four lockers and two desks with laptop computers.

"Alright, you, I, Matt and Ayden sleep here, even if you won't see Ayden so often… he's the last to hit the haystack and the first to leave it" Jack explained entering the room. "I sleep in the top bunk, your bed is the only one that has been made. Your locker is the one on the right, stuff everything in there. I think we'll be called for dinner in a while. Fish and chips tonight, it's Matt's turn to cook. I hope he remembers to fry also squash or something like that, or Rebecca will never, ever forgive him."

Desmond smirked.

"Lemme guess… she called you, too, a carnivore."

Jack nodded and grinned.

"Actually… I had kinda behaved as a caveman when Shaun managed to buy some roasted chicken. But that was the only time I lost control in front of food. Or the only time as an adult, at least." He let slip a chuckle. "Well, I'm going down and pointing it out to old Smeagol. I'll give you a call when dinner is ready. Later, Starkiller!"

Desmond grinned again. _Starkiller_. He had to start to keep it in mind, he thought as he stacked his stuff in the new locker, and maybe even understand why Jack had said he looked so much like the character.

Flavia's book happened to end up in his hands. As he had nothing to do before Jack came back, he might as well read some more.

* * *

><p>Chapter 21<p>

A Letter to the Future

_The Republic of Firenze fell again. Despite the city militia was more determined, and maybe even more skilled than the Papal and Spanish troops sent to take the city, in the spring of 1530, Firenze lost the war because of the betrayal of the leader of the militia._

_Even if the situation was not the best, instead, for this very reason, just like for Roma under Borgia control, the Assassins of Firenze decided to go back into the city and to form again a strong Brotherhood. Liberata was promoted to Master Assassin and was assigned the control on the Rosa Colta, Corrado reunited under an aegis the survived militiamen and some old faithful of the Bande Nere who kept following us, and a Catone Gatto formed new gangs of thieves picking mostly on Duca Alessandro's associates and guards._

_It's needless to say he turned paranoid. He started making the city guards confiscate all the weapons in the possession of civilians. The Assassins started moving their weapons in nearby towns and putting them to safety in secret rooms in the catacombs discovered during the excavation for the bookstore, but the hidden blades, unrecognizable for the guards, survived, and Francesco even allowed the most skilled Apprentices to use two, in the lights of the emergency situation. Alessio and I were in the number as soon as we were eighteen. As for Marcello, he, Cecchino and Cosimo went back to Firenze in 1532, when the dust had settled._

_In a manner of speaking._

* * *

><p><em>May 2, 1532, Fiesole<em>

When Flavia was a little girl, her father's desk had seemed as big as a castle to her. She had lost the count of the times when she and Marcello, once they had done with their studies, with piles of pillows on their chairs to reach the surface, had crawled beneath the table to pretend they were in an unassailable stronghold or in the catacombs of a city or in a cave.

Eight years had passed since Papà had left them, yet Flavia still felt strange to sit on his chair.

"Who are you writing to, Flavia?" Alessio quickly entered the study, holding what seemed a wicker basket covered by a piece of cloth.

Flavia looked up.

"To… well… to whoever believes this world can be saved" she explained. "It's not a letter. Do you remember that matter about Desmond and John, no?"

"So?" Alessio laid the basket down and picked up one of the sheets.

"If they're watching us, and if they're doing it from the future, don't you think we should make their job easier and leave some written evidence? If the Codex of Altair arrived into my father's hands, if I manage to write something and hide it where other Assassins can find it, don't you think that it would be easier for whoever needs it?"

Alessio nodded and read out loud the page Flavia had just written.

"_As long as there's war, there will be people who want peace. There are people who want to force peace, and they're as good as parasites… _our dear Templar friends, _giusto_?"

"The very" Flavia sighed standing up. "At what time do you think Marcello will arrive?"

"If he has read your letter well and between the lines, they'll stop at the _topastro_'s house and hide the sword there before leaving" Alessio smirked. "Cecchino can afford losing a sword… Marcello can't, he values too much his. Oh, and by the way…" he lifted up the basket again. "_Buon compleanno_, Flavia."

Flavia lifted the cloth and looked in the basket, then she reached out and grabbed the meowing ball of fur on the bottom.

"Where did you find this cat?" she asked Alessio.

"At the Three Arches. A boy, Edoardo if I can recall, I've seen him kicking the poor wretch more than once. And as there seem to be mice in the sheds…"

"Alessio…"

"Serena says it seems a total _bischero_ to her. What did she mean?"

The cat had started purring. Judging by what it had between its hind legs, it could be nothing but a "he". He would have been white if he hadn't had a large white spot on his head, an odd pattern of black spots around his backside, and a spot on his left front leg that reminded a bit a vambrace.

"_Andiamo_… he loves you already!"

"It's for this Serena told you he looks like an idiot. Have you ever seen a cat that after being kicked acts like that with people?"

She put the cat back in the basket, where he started stomping with his front legs on a side.

"_Grazie_, anyway." She waited for Alessio to put the basket on the ground and hugged him.

"He'll need a name, no?" Alessio commented as the cat jumped out of the basket and started rolling in a corner.

Flavia looked at the cat rolling and purring and hinted at a grin.

"_Bischero_."

"And Bischero it is" Alessio knelt in the corner and started scratching him behind the ears.

He had not finished cuddling him when he suddenly flinched and took a hand to his neck.

"Ow! What was that, a hornet?"

He looked around and then patted the cat's back.

"Catch it and eat it, Bischero!"

He winced again and took his left hand to his right arm, then he picked something from the ground.

"No, wait… _a pebble_?"

He had in a hand what seemed a very small piece of rock, not bigger than a seed.

He frowned, then he looked at the open window.

"_Cosimo_!" he snarled.

A laugh burst out from outside, then a tall and lanky boy leaned against the doorpost.

"Really, Alessio, you should have seen your face!"

"No, no, wait… so you… you would be the topastro?"

Alessio had all the right reasons to be puzzled. Cosimo had earned at least two or three inches in stature, the edges of his jaw were somewhat rougher, and his hair was doubtlessly messier since the last time Flavia had seen him.

"And what would that be?" he asked getting close to Bischero. Even his voice was different, and if it hadn't been still breaking, Flavia would have mistaken him with Giovanni, Cosimo's late father.

Alessio folded his arms.

"It's Flavia's birthday present. Bischero."

"Many happy returns, Flavia" Cosimo grinned, then he turned to Alessio. "As for you…"

"Bischero is the name of the cat" Alessio raised his hands. "By the way, if you're here, where's Marcello?"

Cosimo rolled his eyes.

"He's off to greet his mother, no?" he said in an exasperated tone.

He leaned on the wall and sighed.

"You know, Flavia" he said toying with the straps of his vambrace. "It doesn't seem your mother is… well, has been widowed. I don't know, she looked ahead, now I might be mistaken but you even have a bookstore in the city and she runs it… _giusto_?"

"It's registered on Marcello's name, though" Flavia hinted at a grin.

Cosimo's face clouded over.

"_My_ mother is still wearing mourning" he mumbled. "Like if it wasn't hard for me too. I hoped things had changed after…" he grimaced. "_Six years_…"

"It ain't easy for anyone, Mi'…" Alessio put a hand on his shoulder. "In the end, that's what friends are for. And anyway… having still your mother is far better than having no one."

"You're not alone. You have Benvenuto, and for he and his siblings you're family, remember?"

"Why, Cosimo, aren't you the same for us?" Marcello entered the room and laid his sword down on the heavy chest next to one of the walls.

"Well, I…" Cosimo tried to stutter as Marcello walked towards Flavia and hugged her.

"As you see, I've neither lost nor forgotten this birthday" he told her. "_Buon compleanno_… big sister."

When Marcello turned to Alessio, he looked him up and down.

"What did you put on, excuse me?"

Just then Flavia took a better look at her brother. He still kept his hair short, but he also had some hair at the sides of his face, and was almost as tall as Alessio. He had calluses on his hands and a different light in his eyes. As much as he had changed, that look said it all: he was "old" Marcello once again, the cheerful and restless boy he had been before Papà had left them.

And he was wearing an armor Flavia had never seen before.

"No, wait…" Alessio stuttered. "Isn't that the armor of Altair?"

"The very" Cosimo nodded and folded his arms. "I told him I would have given him when he would have turned eighteen, no? Well he almost is. If you had to leave again…"

"Mi', Pitch Face makes his guards confiscate weapons."

"Pitch Face can take it in his ass, as he does it with Lorenzino."

Alessio snorted, then he burst out laughing, exclaiming "That was good!", then he opened his eyes wide.

"Who's this Lorenzino?"

"Believe me, you're not losing anything if you don't know him" Cosimo smirked. "He's supposed to be my cousin. Second cousin, actually, he has Marcello's age but he's a _stronzo_. Our families shared the Villa until my father died, he has a brother and two sisters, but they always picked on me in any way 'cause we have always been broke… even if, with the wisdom of hindsight, I fear there were other reasons. With all the pranks they pulled on me, I had to keep watching my back. Well not from Giulio luckily, but then again he has been educated to become a priest. In the end the only way I had to defend myself was to strike on them before they struck on me."

"Well, this explains a lot" Marcello grinned and sat down. Four bullying cousins could easily be the reason why Cosimo, seven years before, in the presence of a potentially hostile stranger like Alessio, had pulled a prank on him in his sleep. At the time, Flavia and Marcello had believed it was a mere attempt to play, it was everything but it instead: Cosimo had simply tried to clarify _he was not a target for pranks_.

Such a shame Alessio had misinterpreted it.

"Well, how are things going in La Serenissima?" Flavia intervened.

"All well until now, no? As I wrote you in these three years. Cecchino has gathered a contingent of mercenaries in the Castello District, Arturo is taking care of them now in his absence, Arturo's parents have a bakery not too far from Palazzo Seta…"

"Marcello used to go out with Laura every evening…" Cosimo smirked.

"Laura and Lavinia have decided to be trained, for a start. They have learned how to hold a weapon, and they carry messages and objects around the city, even hiding them in the bread baskets if they have to" Marcello continued. "Oreste, too, has learned how to read and write, but as he's far too young to enter the Brotherhood…"

"Thank goodness…"

"His parents hope at least he could carry on with the bakery, and I think that's what he'll do in the end. He likes an easy life, when he's not pulling pranks. I don't think he would happily renounce to a hot meal and a comfortable bed every evening" Marcello resolved. "By the way, who's this?" he asked pointing at the cat.

"Bischero" Cosimo smirked and shrugged.

* * *

><p><em>Alessio said that Marcello looked so good in the new set of armor that he needed a portrait, and he insisted for me to pose next to him. He did not need a lot of time for it, but it was a pain in the neck for both of us, especially because Cosimo started looking restless, and at a point Bischero decided it would have been fun playing with Marcello's sash. Luckily we got two birds with a stone when Cosimo took Bischero away and started making him play with a twig.<em>

_Cecchino was with them, too, even if he had headed directly to Firenze. He was as happy as a sandboy when he saw Liberata, Corrado and Elisabetta again, but he was even more when he found out he would soon have had another nephew or niece._

_But all in all, Cecchino had not come back to visit family._

* * *

><p><em>May 6, 1532, Fiesole<em>

"So, what are the news?" Francesco started.

For a simple assembly, there were a lot of people in the sitting room of the villa: there was Patroclo Aldobrandi, the Master of the City, along with Fedro and Candida, his remaining children after the death of his eldest Roberto, Liberata, Corrado, and Cecchino, who was deliberately avoiding the three Aldobrandi's look just like if he still felt guilty, Primarana and Bernardo Machiavelli, Catone Gatto, who had taken from who knew where a straw and was chewing on it, and obviously Flavia, Marcello, Alessio and Cosimo.

As it seemed, holding assemblies in Fiesole had become a usual matter, but for Marcello it still was new. Who knew if they would have managed to find a proper, and overall safe, den in Firenze.

"Before everything, can someone tell that _grullo_ over there I don't have it with him?" Patroclo snorted. "I know the story, Giovanfrancesco. It wasn't you who placed my Berto in front of the guards."

"Talking about guards" Bernardo intervened. "We were in Firenze this morning, and the first guard I saw confiscated my dagger. My sister hasn't been searched only because an old bystander accused them of molestation and threatened to set some people on them."

"Well, there are still respectable people in this world" Cecchino mumbled. "By the way, Liberata… seriously, the _brothel_?"

"I'm only giving directions to the _girls_" Liberata replied. "If Corrado isn't worried, I don't see why you should be."

Cecchino snorted, then he went back to focus on his boots.

"Marcello and Cecchino saw a bloke as we were boarding the ship to come back" Cosimo intervened. "I don't remember the name, though."

"Who, Filippo Strozzi?" Marcello pulled a face.

"Huh, so he's in Venezia now?" Patroclo asked. "May the Lion of San Marco eat him in one bite!"

"What did he do to you, Mastro Aldobrandi?" Cosimo asked.

"To _me_, nothing" Patroclo bitterly sneered. "Strange you are asking me it, young Cosimo. The old devil changes his mind at the change of the wind. A moment before he supports your relatives, a moment after he asserts Firenze is governed by two mules and wishes for the pure-breed horses to return."

"Well, he can't say there are two mules now. Who knows where Cardinal Ippolito is now, since the times of the siege?" Alessio smirked.

"One of our spies effectively saw him" Francesco intervened showing a letter. "Do you remember Isabel Crabbe, Alessio? Well, she's in Vienna, keeping the Imperial Army under watch. And she _not only_ sighted Cardinal Ippolito, she even saw someone who, according to our informers, was supposed to have died two years ago."

"Don't tell me…" Cecchino muttered. "Maybe the Count of Salm?"

Francesco nodded.

"_Lo sapevo_!" Cecchino burst out. "Hit by a rock and died, seriously, didn't he Marcello? A Master Templar! I knew it was a hoax!"

"It wouldn't even be the first" Marcello answered him. "First he pretends Frundsberg is alive. Then, he plays dead."

"Isabel thinks that Salm has thought this up to put in a false sense of security the Turkish Assassins who are pressing on the Sultan to go on with the campaign against the Empire" Francesco explained. "Keeping the Imperial troops on the front, and the few Templar leaders with them, we have fewer probabilities they use their armies to suffocate popular uprising with a bloodshed like Frundsberg did in Tyrol six years ago. And anyway, an Empire on which the Sun never sets, _no jokes, Marcello_, can be a rich soil for any Templar. We must make sure that, with time, the nations rise strong and independent from the Empire, or at least grow able to stand up to it. Hungary can be a start, but tomorrow it could be Spain, Toscana, the Flanders, the Regno di Napoli… there's nothing to discuss, the Empire must be demolished, and Hungary is our chance for a start."

Cecchino remained silent for a moment and scratched his chin.

"If the matter was to warn the Assassins of Constantinople and to assassinate Salm, I could even gather some of the strongest boys and some mercenaries in Venezia. But how could we discuss with the Ottomans? The most of the Greek, and I say Greek, I know, is four verses of Iliad I've been forced to know with the cane at school, and I don't think the other soldiers could do more!"

Marcello couldn't help clearing his throat.

"I speak Turkish"

Cecchino gave him a funny look.

"You _what_?"

"I. Speak. Turkish. My mother taught me when I was a small boy. I didn't last a month in school, but I've learned much more letting my parents teach me than the boys who let the friars cane them!"

He hinted at a grin.

"Flavia speaks Turkish, too, for your information" he added.

"So… are they both going to Vienna?" Alessio asked in a flat tone. He didn't look too happy at the thought.

"A marching army is no place for a girl. No offence meant" Cecchino replied. "If there's someone who has to come with me, he's Marcello."

"And then… Flavia, Alessio, the Viceroy of Napoli, Pompeo Colonna, seems to be on his deathbed, but I've heard bad news on his potential successor, a Pedro Alvarez" Francesco continued. "I've already sent Benvenuto to investigate, but in Napoli we do not have a strong presence, he'll need help. Alessio, you're also a sculptor apprentice, you can justify yourself saying you've been called by your teacher, and I don't think anyone will find fault with you taking your fiancée along, as her brother is on the battlefront."

Patroclo Aldobrandi sneered.

"Mentore Vecellio, you're a genius!"

"That's an exaggeration" Francesco resolved. "I just exploited the situation. I give you time until next Sunday to get ready, on Monday the thirteenth you'll leave the city. Cecchino, if you find soldiers of the Bande Nere willing to leave, take them with you, heaven knows if you'll need them. The assembly is over."

* * *

><p><em>After the assembly, Marcello's mood changed. I almost had the feeling he had said he knew Turkish just for sense of duty, and he did not want to leave for that mission.<em>

_And I had the confirmation the following Friday, when Marcello got his horse and started riding towards Monteriggioni._

* * *

><p><em>May 10, 1532, Monteriggioni<em>

Flavia had been in that place just once, and she could not say she had good memories of it. Once, Papà had mentioned her great-uncle had owned the villa that towered over the town, but Flavia and Marcello had never seen Monteriggioni before the funeral.

Zio Niccolò had said it would have been better that way: a funeral in Firenze and a tombstone would have drawn attention, especially with the storm that then had only been at the horizon and in the following years had struck hard.

She recognized Marcello's horse tied to a ring on the wall of a building just to the left of the wrecked villa. Yes, he was there.

Immediately, Flavia found herself fearing for the worst. Alessio, just behind her, gave voice to her worries.

"Flavia… your brother still has it… he still has the Stone."

Flavia got off her horse and tied it to the wall in turn.

"Marcello is no _idiota_. He didn't do it in Mantova with Giovanni…"

"He _almost_ had done it with Giovanni, in Mantova. Laura had to stop him." Alessio tied his mount to a ring, too. "I've seen them coming back when I shaved Benvenuto."

"Well, if he tries it again, _I'll stop him for good_" Flavia said heading towards what the blind alley she remembered as leading to the entrance of the family crypt. The door with the family crest was closed, but not locked. Marcello was definitely in there.

"What are we waiting for?" Alessio said pushing the door open and heading inside. "Let's go!"

It was just as Flavia remembered it: the main hall of the crypt, looking as old as time itself, the wooden staircase leading downwards, far too new to have been built more than half a century before, the four polished stones just after the stairs, tombstones without a body to guard. Mario, Giovanni, Federico and Pietro Auditore.

"It doesn't seem someone has been buried under here" Alessio said, touching the nearest plaque.

"No one has been" Flavia explained. "My great-uncle was shot dead in a siege, and the Borgia took away his body, and my grandfather and uncles… well, they were left to the Arno river."

"Wait, your uncle Pietro died at… what? _Thirteen_? It's all right with dying at twenty, it could happen to an Apprentice, but… thirteen? Your grandfather had to have hit the head hard, letting a thirteen-year-old into business… I mean, Francesco hardly let us do anything at fourt…"

"Guards raided their home, my father was spared as he was wandering outside. He was about as old as Marcello is now" Flavia explained. "He tried to save them. But he could do nothing but look as they hung from the gallows."

Alessio gulped.

"The _gallows_… I knew your family had fallen into disgrace, but _this_… how could they hang a child, it's _horrible_…"

"It's the Templars" Flavia said, looking at the floor.

Alessio laid a hand on her shoulder.

"They would be proud of you and your brother, you know" he said with a grin. "For what I know, my grandfather Raffaele may even be still alive. But I'll always be a bad egg for him."

"You still don't know what your mother's family would say."

"You heard Tiziano in Venezia. My parents weren't married. What do you think they'd say?"

"Sure, your mother's name was Alya. _Not an Italian name_" Flavia spelled out. "Now, it could even be Arabic judging by how it sounds. No priest in his so-called right mind would marry a Christian and a Muslim, especially in Roma."

Alessio fell silent for a moment. He seemed to be up to reply, then he shook his head and murmured "Let's go and look for Marcello."

"He must be close" Flavia said pushing open an iron mesh, that, too, recently replaced, and taking a look in the nearby chamber.

Marcello was there, near Papà's grave stone. But he didn't seem on the point of breaking it open, he did not have the Stone in his hands, and he was sitting on the ground with a hand on the marble slab.

"Papà, I'm afraid" Marcello was saying in a whisper. "Laura and I love each other. But… I don't know how to tell Mastro Tommaso. I'm afraid I'm not enough for him. I'm afraid of asking."

He pulled a face and covered his eyes with a hand. He looked on the edge of tears.

"I wish you could help me. I wish you were still here. And now… you know, Francesco is sending me to Vienna, to the battlefront. I'm happy I can help, Papà, but I'm afraid I won't come back and… I don't… I don't want to leave Laura behind, not before… what I can do?"

Flavia closed her eyes and took a hand to her face. _If only she had thought about it_. Normally, it was the boy's father who asked the girl's father the approval for a formal engagement, if the two fathers did not even make an agreement, but Marcello… would have had to do it on his own.

Behind her, Alessio crossed the open mesh, made some steps forward and put his hands on Marcello's shoulders.

"Marce', do you really think you ain't a good match?" he started pulling him to his feet. "Laura couldn't find anyone better in the whole Brotherhood. You've been in the Bande Nere, man. You have been entrusted the Philosopher's Stone and you talked to freaking Mars! You saved your sister and your teacher. And now you'll hold the scales in an important mission involving, think about it, the Kaiser and the Sultan! And last but not the least, you're an Auditore. Shall I go on?"

Marcello stayed silent for a moment.

"What… what are you doing here?"

"My duty, I guess" Alessio put an arm around his shoulders. "Marcello, you are my best friend. You could have talked to me."

He grinned.

"I went through it, too, you know? Next time you go to Venezia, try to talk to Arturo. If he approves, and he'd be an idiota if he didn't, go together to Mastro Tommaso and tell him things as they are. He won't say no. Even if he doesn't like you, they moved from Pescawhatever, they don't know too many people, they can't have too much of a choice!"

"I don't want them to accept me like they would with a one-eyed man in a city of blind!" Marcello replied.

"And they won't! You're one of the best guys in this world" Alessio said putting a hand on his back and leading him outside.

"It's all right, Flavia, I've stopped him just in time" he joked once outside. The Sun had set, and the bells of a nearby church were ringing the compline.

"I don't think going back home would be safe, not at this time" Flavia commented. "Now… do you think there's an inn around here?"

"I don't know" Marcello mumbled. "But asking… well, it has never killed anyone."

* * *

><p><em>In the end, we found the inn. The old innkeeper and his wife had survived the siege, and offered us free board and lodging once they had found out who we were. We would have paid, but the innkeeper insisted, and as we ate he started telling us stories about Giampiero as a child, and our great-uncle Mario, and our uncle Raniero, killed in battle just before Enrico was born.<em>

_When we left the morning after, the innkeeper bid us goodbye hoping to see us again… and maybe, to see Marcello as the ruler of the town._

* * *

><p><em>May 11, 1532, Monteriggioni<em>

"Ruler of the town? Ha!" Alessio commented as they left behind the walls. "Just in case nothing else can do, take the town and you'll get the girl!"

* * *

><p><em>It's needless to say Alessio got a smack as soon as I was close enough.<em>

* * *

><p><em>January 6, 2013 – Rockport Assassins' Headquarters<em>

It had been a lifetime since Desmond had sat at such a large table, and it was also definitely strange that the table was extendable and covered by oilcloth, when the room was the old Homestead kitchen.

Matthew Ackermann did not seem to care, and was wolfing down on fish and chips like if it was his last meal, while Jack, who had finally taken off his aviator jacket and put it on the back of his chair, teased him crooning "We only wish, to catch a fish, so juicy sweeeet!" and Rebecca scowled at him.

Even if his mouth was stuffed, Desmond couldn't help laughing.

"You basket cases" Rebecca mumbled as Matt let out a burp.

"Bless you!" Jack sneered. "Blast it, Matt, just don't make us spend a fortune in lemon soda to gulp everything down!"

He lifted an eyebrow.

"Also 'cause the lemon soda is mine!"

Desmond had the feeling that the discussion might have developed into a food battle without the watchful eyes of his father and Beatrice.

Unexplainably, Shaun instead was looking at Matt and Jack and was _laughing up his sleeve_.

"Got it? My lemon soda!" Jack continued standing up and grabbing the bottle.

Desmond tried to focus on what remained of his home fries, but it was not easy to keep eating without getting distracted, especially now Matt had started telling stupid jokes about Templars.

Then, it happened. A moment before, Shaun had lifted his glass of ice tea. A moment after, Matt had shouted to all the occupants of the table the punch line of his joke, and a splash of fluid squirted out of Shaun's nose.

Unfortunately, it was at that very point Beatrice stood up and told Matt she would have done the washing-up, informally shooing everyone away. Rebecca stayed behind and offered her help, but most of the Assassins quickly went towards the hall, and Desmond thought the wisest thing would have been to do the same, and headed towards his room with Matt and Jack.

"It had never happened before" Jack commented closing the door after himself.

"What, your mama blowing up? I don't think it was the first time" Matthew said climbing on his bunk bed.

Jack laughed and kicked his basketball shoes away.

"No, Shaun laughing. Seriously, every time I tried a joke with Rebecca, he gave me such a dirty look…"

Matt raised his hands.

"It wasn't me."

"It wasn't you, Smeagol? You hardly breathed as you were eating, and I was not the one who told that joke about Charles Lee's Chihuahua" Jack replied. "Huh, Desmond, now you know why we call him like that. I'm sorry you found out in the worst possible way."

Desmond shook his head.

"I still don't know who's this Smeagol. Unless it has something to do with that fish wish song."

"We can always fix it" Jack said fumbling for something in his locker. "My mother brought here my stuff when she got here, some of my DVDs included, and I don't think we'll be sent in bed early like toddlers. Just, we'd need the projector. Can you go and get it while I fix the rest?"

"The one in the Animus room?" Desmond asked walking towards the door.

"Yeah, that one. Go, we can wait."

"Just like if we could do anything else" Matthew commented as Desmond left the room.

Desmond quickly went downstairs, lowered the lever to open the concealed door, and went down the last flight of stairs. The projector was where they had left it, just in front of the former portraits' wall. He grabbed it under one arm, making sure the power and linking cables were still attached, then he went upstairs again and found himself in the main hall.

He was up to reach the first floor again when he heard someone saying his name. He left the projector on the first step and flattened himself against the wall of what seemed the kitchen. The man who had spoken was his father.

"… I can't exactly tell you how it went with Desmond, but if he did it, I don't see why Jack can't" he was saying.

A sigh was heard.

"I wish I had your faith. Only today I saw Jack acting… normally" Beatrice answered him. "Since I saw him here, he was the shadow of himself… it seemed he was ten years old again, when we found out Cameron had committed suicide."

"Cameron?" a third voice, that Desmond recognized as Rebecca's, intervened.

"My husband. His father" Beatrice explained. "They… the Templars… have taken some of his grandfather's memories for the Data Dump Scanner. They would have his own… found out about my ancestry… Jack's ancestry… if he had not killed himself before it."

"Jack had never talked about it" Rebecca said. "It must have hurt him a lot. He suddenly worsened when we found out about Clay. We knew they had emailed each other, but not they were so close, he only told me a pair of weeks ago. When we had that piece of news, Jack almost went into shock. Shaun and I feared the worst, but some hours after he just threw himself on the bed and started weeping like a baby. Two days after, he left the hideout and we had no more news about him."

"And a week later, Matt found him in Switzerland in a pitiful state and took him to London" Beatrice said. "From where Jack eventually escaped again until he reached you lot on the 21st."

"I hardly recognized him, I had to say. I don't know how much had he walked, but he was wearing the ripped trousers you saw on him today, he had a two weeks beard, and he seemed he had not had a decent meal in a lot of time. The first thing I did once we were in the van was to order him to eat" William commented. "I had to repeat it three times, he was… well, I think he was worried."

"Or carsick. The first time he got in the van, he was as green as a toad" Rebecca snorted. "By the way, think about it one moment. Jack lost his father and a friend he seemed to be quite fond of. Marcello had lost his father and a man he had considered an older brother. He has been much less than Desmond in the Animus, so I can only say this must have pushed him on the edge of shock. Even the simple fact he has started to get better in Desmond's presence… Bill, yesterday I asked Tommy to do some research… Alessio Falcone is in the number."

Desmond did not need to hear anything else. If Jack had really saved his life, the very least he could do was to make sure he did not end up in a coma or go haywire like Daniel Cross.

Sure, he probably had done something, but he doubted it was enough.

The time had come to roll up his sleeves again, both as an Assassin and as a newly-elected Watchman.

And if the first step was to spend a night watching movies with his fellow Watchmen, maybe it wouldn't have been so bad.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Giusto (ITALIAN) = right  aren't they**_

_**Topastro (ITALIAN) = rat**_

_**Buon compleanno = Happy Birthday**_

_**The three arches are a part of the old Roman and Etruscan ruins in Fiesole. They actually were part of the Roman Baths, but people didn't know in that period.**_

_**Andiamo = come on**_

_**Grullo = stupid**_

_**Lo sapevo = I knew it**_


	23. Two and two makes four

_**Wow, readers, it's Chapter 22, I've had two teeth pulled out, I have two more exams until I graduate, and my sister tomorrow is coming home! – which means we'll be two at home again!**_

_**It's really ironic I decided to call this chapter… well, you'll see. Anyway, there are references to "The Lord of the Rings" and "Nineteen-Eighty-Four", a book I never finished reading because at a point, it started giving me the creeps. But I read a good half of it. At a point, though, I got so scared I did not want to go on, so I had to read the plot on Wikipedia. And I got the creeps once again.**_

_**Anyway, for who doesn't know anything about the book, let's say it's about a world where Templar-like people rule, and you could be jailed and tortured because of simple "thoughtcrime", thinking against the ruling party.**_

* * *

><p><em>January 17, 2013, Rockport Headquarters<em>

The deafening racket of Matthew Ackermann's alarm clock brought Desmond back to the marvelous reality.

Until a moment before, he had believed that Warren Vidic had really been crouched on the edge of his bed like a maniac, in his underwear, with the Amulet in his hands and hissing "_My preciousss, Missster Mileses, my preciousss_".

He kicked his blankets away and sat up, leaning his forehead on his palm. In the last days, they had watched a movie every night, but as it seemed, the burritos they had eaten the previous evening had had some nasty side effects when they had gone to bed after watching _The Return of the King_.

He heard Jack Newell moaning "kill me" above him, and let slip a laugh. As it seemed, he, too, had paid the consequences of the blow-out of the previous evening. He was not too surprised, instead, to see Matthew jumping out of bed like if nothing had happened: literature teacher or not, the man was a bottomless pit.

"Come on, Jack, it's hard for me, too" Desmond stood up and chuckled, then headed towards the bathroom. Strange as it may have seemed to him, it was a blessing that whoever had filled the Davenport Manor with Ikea furniture, bunk beds and computers had also connected it to plumbing and sewage system.

He was surprised he had found time to breathe, in the last days. Between assemblies in the basement, races in the countryside with Jack, training and kitchen and cleaning duties, he had hardly had the time to pet Rusty every now and then. He hoped he could read some more of the book soon, but now the urgency was to keep training to free Sarah Evans, he no longer had had the chance.

He got out of the bathroom to find Jack almost in the doorway, with a Star Wars footsie pajamas, his hair in a total mess and a zombie-like face. He suggested him to wash his face with cold water and drink a double espresso before looking for his shoes and rushing to the kitchen. It was Ayden Kartal's turn, and if there was a thing Desmond had learned, was that when the hacker had to make breakfast, if one did not wake up at sunrise like him, the chances of finding the omelet as cold as ice were very high.

There was no excuse, if he wanted a hot meal he had to make it, and as it was not his turn, he had no time, so he quickly fumbled for pop-tarts in the pantry and stuck two in the toaster. Matt would have stomached the icy omelet, but if Desmond could spare Jack from the torture, he would have done it.

As soon as the kitchen started becoming crowded, it was clear they all had had his same idea: Rebecca had started looking for corn flakes, Shaun had opened a jar of marmalade, and Beatrice had taken a yogurt from the fridge and was frowning at Jack as he munched on the snack Desmond had passed him.

"John Andrew Newell…" she was about to hiss.

"_Maamma_…" Jack protested.

"Shall I remind you what the elementary school nurse used to say?"

"The nurse protested when I was seven… _before _I got rid of the paunch" Jack pulled a face. Despite he was still wearing his jammies, the well-developed argument and the scowl led to believe that he was fully awake.

"At least your old man left yesterday" Jack turned to Desmond and snorted. Desmond shrugged. His father had left the Headquarters the previous morning, when he had gotten the news that as it seemed Abstergo had gotten too much information about a compound that had survived the Purge that sheltered about ten children. A Watchwoman, codenamed Padmé (Jack said her true name was Pauline Zhang) was waiting there for him to organize a defense and an evacuation.

"Let's get a move on, guys, we have a lot to do today" Rebecca announced placing her cup in the sink. "We have put our hands on another Animus, as it seems."

"Have we?" Jack asked.

"Well, what did you expect, after they started selling them as consoles?" Shaun intervened. "One of us had simply to tinker on it, clear it of the junk Abstergo has stuffed them with, then replace the CPU and send it to us. They literally… _played our game_."

"Oh, that's for sure, especially if it ended up in Stinky's hands" Jack commented. "That would be Sharifa's brother… do you remember, Shaun? His name is Fahim and he's the youngest in the group… hardly fifteen and if he could attend university he would be one step away from a degree in electronic engineering!"

"The kid in the picture?" Desmond asked.

"The very" Jack said. "Now, if you excuse me, I have to change before my mother flies into a rage."

He went upstairs as Shaun pulled the lever and opened the passageway that led to the basement.

As Rebecca had said, there were two Animi near the "robes' wall", and one bore the traces of an Abstergo logo scratched away and replaced by Assassin insignia drawn with a sharpie.

"Why this change of schedule?" Desmond asked approaching the new Animus.

"According to Ayden, at Abstergo they have linked the Animi together to make recruits interact" Rebecca explained. "Jack already has a good synch level with Marcello, if we could obtain a good synch also with you and Alessio Falcone, maybe in the future we could make joint sessions and see if your presence can somehow help Jack. If Clay saved you…"

"And he also lost his bytes, Rebecca" Shaun intervened.

"He lost his bytes because no one of us _could know_ we should have shut down the safety systems" Rebecca replied. "If we'll ever need the safe mode with Jack, too, we'll know what to do."

Desmond stifled a laugh. After months spent living together, those two really argued like a married couple.

"Do I really have to put my trust in that clunker?" he asked looking at the former Abstergo device.

"Whoever modified it, he did it with the projects I gave to your father. You won't even notice the difference" Rebecca patted him on the shoulder.

Desmond sat on the lounge chair where the new Animus had been set and waited for Rebecca to switch it on.

He found himself in the familiar white corridor, with the mirror fragments around him giving him back the image of his face. Then, a flash temporarily blinded him, and the shards started mirroring a boy in his late teens, with middle-length messy hair, grayish-green eyes, a blue tunic, and a grey cape with a falcon and a star embroidered on it.

_And with this_, Desmond grinned as a city appeared around Alessio Falcone, _it's four_.

* * *

><p>Chapter 22<p>

Two and two makes four

_May 16, 1532, Napoli, Via Carbonara_

Alessio stopped his horse and looked around. If Roma had been chaotic, Napoli was definitely even worse.

"This is it, _giusto_?" Next to him, Flavia was looking around. Benvenuto had told them they would have met there, but there was no sign of him around there.

Alessio snorted. Leave them behind that way was not Benvenuto's thing, no matter how much absent-minded, childish and reckless he could be.

The very Altair couldn't have dissuaded him from his duties to his Apprentice, and that was really saying something, considering how much Benvenuto raised the late Assassin to object of worship.

Alessio was still lost in his thoughts when a big hairy dog, of the breed used to hunt water fowl, started scampering around his horse, wagging its tail and barking playfully.

Flavia grinned.

"It's Minerva!" she exclaimed.

Alessio jumped off the horse and started scratching the dog behind her ears and petting her head. Minerva was the barbet given to Benvenuto by Duca Alessandro just after the _alleged_ death of Cecchino, and in the three years she had spent with Benvenuto, she had thwarted a theft and assailed the burglar, carried out a pigeon slaughter, and scented Templar agents with a piece of their clothes. She had not been named after the goddess of wisdom for nothing: unlike Bischero the cat, she was one of the smartest animals Alessio had ever seen.

"Good girl! Did you miss me?" Alessio bent down and started patting Minerva's back, while she put her paws on his shoulder and started licking his ears. Alessio mentally thanked he had left his father's cape in his satchel: the street was filthy and dusty, and Minerva's paws were as dirty as it.

"If Minerva is here, Benvenuto must not be too far" Flavia commented getting off her horse. To not raise suspicion, she had had to wear a dress in the final stages of the journey, but Alessio was ready to swear she was wearing a shirt and trousers under it, despite the heat of the late spring.

"Do you think she might know where he is?" Alessio asked Flavia.

"Since when you need a dog to find Benvenuto?" Flavia chuckled.

Alessio shook his head and chuckled in turn, then he grabbed the reins of his horse and examined the street, focusing on his sixth. Benvenuto was not nearby, but somehow Alessio could understand he was close enough anyway.

Minerva had started running towards an alley, and Alessio could do nothing but follow her.

Benvenuto was in an alley, in the doorway of an inn, with a half full glass of wine in a hand and grinning in a way a bit too unseemly to a courtesan.

Alessio smirked and rolled his eyes.

"Here we go again" he commented shaking his head. "Didn't Francesco tell you to keep an eye on Pietro Alvarez?"

Benvenuto shrugged.

"How can I, if I have to wait for you?"

Luckily, he did not seem drunk, but then again, all the times Alessio had seen Benvenuto raising too much his elbow had been after the sunset. He literally could not afford being tipsy on his workplace, not if he didn't want to be left with nine fingers like his beloved Altair.

Alessio did not persist: as much as he was fond of Benvenuto, trying to keep him away from courtesans – and guys – wine and trouble in general was a lost battle.

"Shall we go, then? Alessio and I should leave the horses, _for a start_" Flavia intervened folding her arms and lifting an eyebrow.

Benvenuto hastily nodded, emptied his glass and let slip a nervous grin.

"_Va bene, va bene_, let's go." He laid the glass on the nearest table and kissed the courtesan's lips. "Some other time, perhaps, Angelica."

He led them to a nearby stable and then through a maze of backstreets, until they arrived in a long and wide avenue that almost seemed to cut through the buildings.

"This is the tribunals' street, or so they call it. If you think this cuts the city… well, you haven't seen the other. I've heard people around calling it _Spaccanapoli_."

Alessio smirked.

"Always better than that bunch of blind alleys. I don't like too much this place."

"Napoli is always on the edge of explosion… like Mount Vesuvio over it" Benvenuto nodded. "They say it's the second most populated city of Europe. The first would be Constantinople, if we consider it Europe. The plague struck hard here, too, _and I'm not surprised at all_, but the city is rising again. If the next Viceroy will be able to manage and improve the city, things could turn out for the best, but the thing might not last, if his successors won't do as much. Oh, here we are."

Benvenuto had spotted a big nail stuck in a wall, and had started knocking on the door of a nearby building. A man looking like a servant opened.

The building was what seemed an assembly hall. There was a group of noblemen busy discussing about something, but when Benvenuto had entered, one of them had left the circle.

"I have to suppose your student's arrival has not taken precious time from you, Mastro Cellini" he said hinting at a grin.

"Not at all, _Eccellenza_" Benvenuto slightly bowed. "Meet Alessio Falcone… and the young woman is Flavia Auditore, his fiancée. _Ragazzi_… Don Pietro Alvarez De Toledo, my customer."

"_Eccellenza_… it's an honor" Alessio slightly bowed while Flavia did the same. He would have never done it willingly, but as long as they had to keep the cover, he had to behave in a socially acceptable way.

Alvarez grinned, then stuck his gaze on the boy.

"Your face is familiar" he said. "So where are you exactly from? Firenze?"

"I live there, but I was born in Roma… _Eccellenza_" Alessio answered. "And a grandfather of mine served the Aragon."

"Magistrate Rodrigo Falcone De Vigiliis lives in this street with his wife and children" Alvarez commented.

Alessio was tempted to reply "really?", but he held himself back. He could not reveal he was the son of a disinherited man just for mere curiosity.

"Really?" Benvenuto asked instead. "Come on, Alessio, we'd better get back to work. Maybe if we have some spare time you can pay them a visit."

He patted him on the shoulder and then led him down two or three more streets. The workshop was next to a palace that Benvenuto pointed as Alvarez's mansion.

Alessio was hardly paying him attention: he was thinking about what Alvarez had told him about the Falcone De Vigiliis. If it was true… if his family was really in the city…

He was buried in those thoughts when his foot hit something hard and got stuck, and in less than a minute he found himself face down on the ground. Flavia and Benvenuto immediately bent over him.

"Alessio… are you all right?" Flavia immediately asked.

"Of course he is, he only stumbled. These streets need to be paved for good" Benvenuto commented helping him up.

Alessio shook the dust off his clothes the best he could and started gathering his stuff. A bag had fallen quite far and had opened, scattering his drawings in the street. Flavia had already sprinted to retrieve them, but one fell near the feet of a little girl standing at the roadside, with long chestnut brown hair and hazel eyes, very good features, and a dressy attire.

The girl did not feel ashamed in picking up the sheet from the ground, but instead of giving it back to Flavia, she kept it in her hands and looked at it, then she smiled. When Flavia approached her, the girl looked at the ground, blushed and shoved the piece of paper in her hands.

"Did your fiancé do it?" she asked Flavia. "It's… it's lovely."

Flavia grinned.

"What, my brother's friend or my cat?" she asked. Alessio smirked. It was the quick sketch he had drawn of Cosimo as he played with Bischero.

"The boy" the girl said. "What's… his name?"

She had turned sad, and Alessio could guess why. Judging by her dress, she had a high social status – definitely higher than Cosimo, who despite being Il Magnifico's great-grandson on his mother's side, wore his father's hand-me-downs because of family debts.

"He? Cosimo di Giovanni de'Medici" Flavia hinted at a grin.

"Giovanni… you mean the _Bande Nere_ Giovanni?" the girl asked. "You knew him?"

"My brother knew him better, but I did" Flavia resolved. "Nice to meet you, I'm Flavia Auditore. What's your name?"

"Eleonora" the girl grinned. "Eleonora Alvarez."

Alessio had to hold back laughter. The girl really had no chance, not with Cosimo. There was no contest, it was absolutely impossible the daughter of the future Viceroy of Napoli married the son of a broke _condottiero_.

"So the cat in the drawing is yours?" Eleonora did not seem to be thinking about any social status. "What's its name? Is it a he or a she?"

Flavia was about to answer, but a girl in her early teens, with an ornate dress, marched towards Eleonora reproaching her in Spanish and dragging her away by the wrist. Flavia could do nothing but waving Eleonora goodbye and winking at her.

"The brat kept my drawing…" Alessio mumbled as Eleonora and the other girl, who could be no one but her sister, vanished past the front door of the palace.

"I think she'll come back to return it, if that will mean hearing the rest of the story" Flavia hinted at a grin and approached him. "I think… I think she has a crush on Cosimo."

* * *

><p><em>January 17, 2013, Rockport Headquarters<em>

The streets of Naples left the place to the memory corridor again, then the graphic construction of the Animus vanished, too, leaving Desmond sitting on the lounge chair of the hidden basement of the former Davenport Manor.

"Such a genius, this ancestor" Shaun commented shaking his head. "Tripping over like that, ha!"

"Just like if you could actually say no one of your ancestors ever fell" Rebecca replied. "You know, I still remember the way you fell headlong the first day we spent in Tor Tre Teste."

"Jack had spilled his lemon slushie, if you forgot it, and I slipped on it!"

"_Porca vacca_, Shaun, do you still bear a grudge?" Jack asked entering the room. "And anyway, it was _grattachecca_, not slushie. Always accurate, but this always eludes you!"

"Well, no surprise there" Desmond intervened with a smirk. "His ancestor could not associate the name Auditore with the Prophet!"

"Jack, in the Animus" Shaun preferred not to comment. "Desmond, did you reach any important event in that book?"

"Nope. I haven't had a moment to open it since two Mondays ago."

"I thought I told you it's important you read it!"

"Excuse me, but when?" Desmond stood up and faced the historian. "I never had so much to do before now!"

Shaun snorted.

"Oh listen to Little Jimmy Special! Yet I think your hands were loads fuller when you used to juggle with bottles! Maybe responsibilities aren't too good for you?"

"Shaun, enough!" Rebecca sprang to her feet and raised her voice. "If Desmond has no time, you too could bother reading that book! After all, it's _your _ancestors, too, this time! Mars also showed himself to Andreas! Don't keep acting like if you've been pushed behind, because you _haven't been_, you arse!"

She went upstairs, stomping her feet on every step, and went out of their sight.

"Well done, Shaun. There goes our technician" Jack snorted.

"So it is my fault now?" Shaun replied. "_My fault_?"

"Right, yours, you have the tact of an elephant in a crystal shop, you yell out your nerves on anyone close to you, and you can't even say we're setting you aside this time, 'cause we even put you in the Animus!" Jack, too, had started losing control. "You're such a jerk, Hastings, and this is the last straw, _non pensi un po' al resto del mondo?_ Wasn't it for that you started exposing Abstergo? _Aiutare le persone, certo, uno scopo alto, sicuro, ma prima di pensare alle altezze, non faresti meglio ad abbassarti un po'_?"

Shaun's face passed in little time from wrath to worry, immediately noticing the symptoms of the Bleeding Effect.

"Desmond, calm him down, I'll go and look for Rebecca!" he said running up the stairs. _Calm him down, easier said than done!_, Desmond thought as he looked at Jack shaking, with eyes wide open, and on the point of fainting.

What was he seeing in his mind's eye?

Until Rebecca wasn't there, it wouldn't have been possible to put him in the Animus – even if he had been far too much in there, Desmond had no clue of how to operate it.

He put a hand on Jack's shoulder and tried to make him sit down. If he was up to faint, it was better if he did not do it as he stood. Jack was putting up resistance, but Desmond did not let go.

"It's all right, Jack, you have to wake up now" Desmond told him as he finally managed to have him sitting on the lounge chair. "It's all right, man. All right."

Jack's pupils dilated and shrunk themselves, then the boy started panting. He squinted and looked around.

"Desmond…?" he stuttered. He had fear written all over his face. "It… happened again… didn't it?"

Desmond found himself forced to nod.

Jack covered his eyes with a hand and started muttering something between his teeth. At the beginning, Desmond could not distinguish the words, but then he managed to hear them better. Jack was talking about _himself_.

"… I want to become a writer. I have saved Desmond Miles and I brought him into the Watchmen circle. I shouldn't have gobbled down all those burritos last night. I want to pull Sarah Evans out of the Abstergo cells the soonest possible. I don't want her to end up like my dad and Clay. _I_ don't want to end up like Clay."

He gulped and looked at Desmond.

"It hadn't happened in ten days" he panted. "I can't explain what happened… I lost control…"

Desmond sat down in turn and looked into Jack's eyes.

"Calm down. You're not in an Abstergo compound, here they care about you. Using the Animus is like jogging, you'll be short of breath until you won't get more stamina with training. Rebecca and Shaun are trying to get you to that point… and I'm helping, too, Jack. As for Sarah, we'll get her out of there, I promise" he tried to hint at a grin. "After what they've done to me and Clay, I'll be damned if I allow anyone to be chained to those Templar traps, if I can prevent it."

Jack regained some color and grinned.

"Sarah and I have known each other for ages" he said. "Or at least, since my mother and I left Florence."

"You lived in Firenze?"

"No, Florence, NY. You know, after Connor had told the Brotherhood there was something big around there, there was always someone nearby to… _watch_ the place, you know. As my parents and I were the most normal family ever, we were sent. Trouble arrived when I was nine. I remember well that period because I had just finished the diet" Jack narrated. "Two strangers arrived at home, asking to talk to my dad. Their names were Hannah Mueller… and _Daniel Cross_. Dad was one of the first to be taken by the Templars… if not _the_ first. Sarah lived in a compound with an uncle of hers instead. During the Purge, she lost her uncle and I lost my father. We both found ourselves here, as she's a year and a half older than me, she kinda took me under her wing. She became like a sister for me. She _is_ my sister. When the Watchmen were founded, it was clear we would have had to work as a team, but then Daniel stole the Prophet's Codex and a descendant of Ezio Auditore was needed to retrieve at least a copy of it from Ezio's or his children's memories. Sum it up, two and two."

It took nothing to Desmond to reconnect the dots, and in doing it, he felt the sharp pain of guilt. All of that could have been avoided, if he had not run away from home. Clay's capture and suicide, Jack's seizures, now even Sarah's capture. If Jack had not left her, maybe she would have never been in the attacked base.

The opportune arrival of Shaun, Rebecca and Amber saved him from staying more in Jack's same room. He felt filthy. He felt like if he was Altair again and Malik was in front of him with his left arm dangling lifelessly once more.

All of that had happened because he, in his juvenile craving, had wanted to repudiate the legacy of his ancestors.

The only thing he could do now was try to fix everything the best he could, and at the moment the best solution was to keep reading that book.

He rushed to his room, grabbed the book from his locker, sat on his bed and started reading.

He wouldn't have compromised the Brotherhood again. If he could take some weights away from his conscience, he had to do it.

* * *

><p><em>The four days following our arrival in Napoli were totally peaceful: Benvenuto spied on Don Pietro, Alessio continued his works so that Benvenuto could not raise any suspicion, I walked around in the city and gathered rumors listening to the people. It took me a while to get used to the local dialect, and if I had to speak or intervene, I restricted myself to the bare necessity to avoid people noticing I was a stranger.<em>

_Marcello, instead, had troubles since his first days in Vienna. Or so it seemed to him._

* * *

><p><em>May 21, 1532, Vienna<em>

"So, where is Isabel supposed to meet us?" Marcello asked. He and Cecchino had gone out on their own, after leaving the mercenaries at the barracks.

"Stefansdom, the Cathedral of St. Stephen, in the center of the city. She said to meet her… where Jesus Christ should have a tooth pulled out, if I'm not wrong. Oh, and she won't be alone. I think there's her son with her, she can write in Italian and she understands it, but she doesn't speak it too well, and sometimes she needs his help. Francesco told me Isabel does nothing but praise him in her letters" Cecchino smirked. "This boy seems to be able to speak Latin better than an archbishop and to translate Greek on sight. I guess you'll be stuck with him, if you'll have to parley with the Ottomans… at least he does speak Greek…"

Marcello snorted.

"He sounds like a bossy know-it-all" he said.

"Just you wait for him to see you…" Cecchino resolved giving him a pat on the shoulder. "Isabel may talk about a genius, but I have replied about an excellent fighter who saved many human lives, Brothers and civilians alike, even on the battlefield, and last _and_ the least is the Prophet's son. You are second to no one, Marcello. That egghead will immediately climb down!"

"I _don't want him_ to climb down because of my father! If I have to earn his respect…"

"It will be for who you are. Easy, man, it's going to be all right."

The city showed the typical signs of an impending war. There were few people at the windows, even fewer in the streets, and several stands stood abandoned at the edges of the streets and in the squares. But it was not a city at war. Not yet. It was not a ghost town like Pavia or Curtatone.

Marcello gritted his teeth and sighed. So much time had passed…

The façade of the church stood out in front of them. It looked like an assortment of different building styles, and maybe it was, because the main portal looked really ancient, but looking just above it, the building became Romanesque, and the side walls and towers were Gothic.

It was amazing, and Marcello could not believe the Germans, towards whom he still bore such a grudge since eight years before, were also able to build up such a wonder.

"Nice, isn't it?" Cecchino smirked. "I think you'll have to change your mind when they're done with San Pietro, though."

Marcello shook his head.

"Nothing can beat I Frari" he replied.

"Let's not discuss about that now. We have to find Isabel" Cecchino resolved. "Let's split up and walk around the church, you on a side and I on another. If someone acts in a hostile way towards you, shoot with your gun to warn me."

"Va bene" Marcello nodded and started looking on the left side. He went round his side of the church, not particularly enthusiast to meet the spy's know-it-all son, and resolved to write to Laura, Cosimo and Andreas that night so he could have had at least a laugh about all that matter.

He had arrived at the bell tower when he heard Cecchino whistling. He was bound to have found them. He walked faster, sighed, and turned around the corner, until he arrived at the outer apse. On a column, there was the bust of a Christ with a visibly pained face, with a hand on the other. It really looked like he had a toothache, looking at its face.

Cecchino was under it, along with a woman in her late forties and a boy about as tall as Marcello. The boy had his hood pulled forward and the woman had covered her head with a shawl, so not too much could be told about their physical appearance, but it was clear that, as cool as it could be for Marcello and Cecchino, for them it was quite hot, as the boy had rolled up his sleeves.

"We're all here, I'd say" Cecchino announced. The boy resignedly sighed, and folded his arms. He had an old scar just below his elbow.

_Oh well, if this means his world isn't only in books, that's all right for me._

"Andreas! _Gedraag je!_" Isabel murmured something and gave him a clip on the ear.  
>"<em>Moeder<em>!" the boy hissed in protest.

One moment! _Andreas_? Had he really heard Andreas?

"Hey, Marcello, what's wrong? You look like if you had just seen a ghost!" Cecchino commented.

The boy's jaw dropped.

"Can't… can't believe this…" he said, this time in Italian. "Marcello… Marcello _Auditore_?"

Marcello had no words, but he did the only reasonable thing he could do: he pulled his hood back.

"You dimwit, you could have told me you were coming here!" Andreas van Wesel pulled his hood back in turn and patted him hard on the shoulder.

Cecchino lifted both his eyebrows.

"Wait – wait – wait. Would you two actually mean you know each other?" he asked raising his hands in front of his face.

Marcello burst into laughter.

"_Ma no, guarda_!"

Cecchino smirked.

"And you were even worried!"

Having stayed in touch with him only through letters, Marcello had continued picturing Andreas as a small boy with grayish-blue clothes, a squeaky voice and a very insecure behavior. It was hard to associate that kid to seventeen-year-old Andreas, as tall as Marcello, with broad shoulders, a grown-up's voice, a stubble under his nose and ears, and a white vest with blue sleeves, and he suspected that Andreas had not immediately recognized him for the same reason.

Andreas still was grinning, then he turned serious.

"But I was told… a war hero… the son of the Prophet…"

Marcello shrugged and stared at his feet, then he mumbled "that's me".

Andreas blanched.

"_Ecco_, why do you think I've never told you?" Marcello frowned. "I'm Marcello, just Marcello. I didn't tell you in Paris 'cause I didn't want you to act this way. Andreas… it's always me."

"You should have told me instead, you dimwit" Andreas replied hinting at a grin. "You have no idea of the dread I had… meet the son of the Prophet… I feared he would have been a high-and-mighty stuffed shirt… and I find you instead!"

"You can talk, then" Isabel intervened with a nod. "Andreas_, je weet wat er aan de hand is. Vertel hem alles_."

"_Goed_ …" Andreas sighed.

"Listen, I'm going back to the barracks, then. Two chatting boys won't catch anyone's eye" Cecchino smirked. "Or at least, will do it less than adults. Marcello, I'll see you at our quarters."

"Va bene, see you later!" Marcello resolved as Cecchino climbed on a roof and started running on it. Andreas looked at him for a while until he was gone.

"So he's the soldier you saved?" he asked. "Alessio's teacher's brother?"

Marcello nodded.

"He seems a smart guy" Andreas commented.

"He is" Marcello grinned. "What about you? How is life at university?"

"Miserable" Andreas snorted and sat on a bench. "Everybody knows my father, so I just have to make a single false step and… _Andreas van Wesel! Walk the line!_ The professors just… can't accept that what they're trying to stick into my head… it's not enough for me. I don't want to study, not what they force me to learn. _Ipse dixit_, Mr. So-and-So said it and no one can prove him wrong! _Rotzakken_!"

He sighed.

"My father is mad at me" he said. "Probably, he expected something better from me, and I'm applying myself, but… I don't think it's right to just listen to those four geezers calling themselves teachers. I want to become a physician, of course, but not… not that way. I want to really save lives, not to lick noblemen's boots for money. I've started studying on my own, like I did in Paris, but in Leuven everybody is watching me. And there's this girl, Anne van Hamme, one of the professors' daughter… it seems her father has set her on me, for the way she keeps following me everywhere."

"Or maybe she's in love" Marcello grinned.

Andreas snorted.

"Have you been to Headquarters?" he asked, quickly changing the topic of conversation.

"Not yet."

"We have maps in there… Dogan, the Master of Constantinople, sent us the plans for the scheduled march of the army. The plan would be to go to their camp and meet them, but in Vienna there aren't enough men suitable for this kind of mission, and no one of them speaks Turkish, I know just Greek, so things are up to get pretty grim unless some of them speak Greek fluently."

"The Assassins' Headquarters in Constantinople is in the Galata District" Marcello replied. "There are communities from all over Europe and Asia, and the Genoese one is one of the largest. There may be Greek speakers… and Italian speakers alike. But even in the worst case, I _do_ speak Turkish."

Andreas pulled a face.

"And where did you learn it?"

"My parents met in Constantinople, my mother used to live there. As Flavia and I were homeschooled, we learned Turkish from her" Marcello explained. "Flavia is as good as me, but she and Alessio have been sent to Napoli to investigate on the Viceroy's possible succession. We have seen too many of them on the Templars' side not to keep an eye on the potential next one. I guess that if there's the slightest risk Pietro Alvarez has something to do with _them_, he'd find himself with Benvenuto's rifle aimed for his skull."

Andreas stayed silent for a moment.

"Well I hope Benvenuto won't have to" he said then.

Marcello lifted an eyebrow.

"I know him by reputation, he might be a harsh person but my mother has never seen him too close to the Templars at the court" Andreas mumbled. "And then again… he's got family. Seven kids. I know, I should not say Alvarez mustn't die because he's a father… but… we can kill the ones who deserve to die, but we can't do anything for the ones who would deserve to live. Do you remember Chaput? And the children trapped in the fire?"

"And Tessa Varzi and Alessio's parents, and my grandfather and two uncles of mine, and my father and Vanni… people die, Andreas" Marcello said raising his fingers to keep the count. "But there are more people who have been saved thanks to the Brotherhood. Mentore Francesco survived to La Motte's trap. Alessio was taken away from the fight in which his father was killed. My father, grandmother and aunt survived the conspiracy that wanted them all dead. I couldn't have saved my father or Vanni but I saved Cecchino. And for two children trapped in the fire, we saved… _you_ saved at least twenty."

For every rescue mentioned, he lowered a finger.

"All right, but what if it's all a mistake and we don't find out until it's too late?" Andreas replied. "We could always get the wrong man killed. And then again, not all the men we could kill could be truly against us. Some of them could fight only to earn their bread."

"They'd draw their swords in front of us without even thinking" Marcello squinted and lowered his head. "We must be ready to attack before they harm us… or before they harm this world."

Andreas stood up and sighed.

"I know, you're right, but… it's hard to choose a side in this war. You and I are here because of your father and my mother. Didn't you ever think we might have been… pushed into this?"

"Not at all. My father would have never wanted me to step in his shoes" Marcello stood up in turn. "I was offered the chance to give everything up. Do you know why I didn't? It's better to take a stand and fail, than not to take it and live with the regret. If no one stood up to the mighty… think about it, Andreas, think at how the world would be if it was in the hands of four or five people. You don't have to go too far, think about the professors at your university."

Andreas turned to Marcello and kept listening.

"You said you can't stand what they're forcing you to learn. Think at how the world would be if they made the rules. If no one had the chance to understand, find on his own what he believes true and right. If no one could stand up to them and tell them they're wrong" Marcello continued. "That's what the Templars want. That's the evil we're fighting. No one can claim himself a shepherd above a flock. We are the watchmen of the world, Andreas, protecting the people from who claims to be better than them is our job."

"You forgot something, Marcello" Andreas said as he started walking. "_Quis custodies ipsos custodes_? If we watch people… who watches us?"

"You watch my back" Marcello grinned and resolved. "I'll watch yours."

* * *

><p><em>May 31, Vienna<em>

_Dear Flavia and Alessio,_

_Guess who's here in Vienna? Andreas. He and his parents are here with the Imperial Army, his mother is gathering all the information she can for the Brotherhood, and his father is working as a doctor, and he goes back and forth between the two. Oh, right, his mother is the Isabel Crabbe who sends news to Francesco._

_Even if it's almost summer, here in Vienna it's really cold for me. I don't know how can Andreas go around with his sleeves rolled up, he says it's hot, but I beg to differ, and luckily Arturo, who left with me, Cecchino and the soldiers, agrees with me despite the weather of Pescarenico is definitely not the same of Fiesole._

_Andreas's father is a born troublemaker. I don't think he has too much of a good opinion of me, he's a good doctor, but he keeps worrying about his good name. Yesterday I couldn't take it anymore, I saw red and I told him he had to think about the rest of the world and, high as it could have been his purpose, he should have learned to stoop if he did not want his son to leave him once and for all. And you may not believe me, but he shut his face!_

_The Ottoman Army has started moving towards North. Dogan is sending us messages with pigeons, and we must always be quick to get them before some curious guards intercept the birds. Luckily the messages are coded, and as we use a different one for each letter, they won't be able to crack the codes too soon, if they ever had one in their hands._

_It will take time before we can come back home, Cecchino told me we won't be moving before we assassinate Salm._

_I hope you're well._

_Marcello_

* * *

><p><em>January 17, 2013, Rockport Headquarters<em>

Desmond quit the book and hinted at a grin. Young Andreas's reluctance was too much of a déjà vu: he still remembered the not too sweet words with which Shaun had defined the Assassins in the few days spent in Tor Tre Teste and the arguments with which he had proved his opinion. That could also explain why Tommy had said that Andreas's daughter had never entered the Brotherhood. Probably, Andreas had never wanted her to be trained.

Moreover, what Marcello had written in his letter seemed to have been copied word by word from what Jack had shouted to Shaun. Jack had reproached Shaun with the same words Marcello had used for Andreas van Wesel senior.

Yet, in a way, Desmond was upset that Shaun still had not showed any interest in the Watchmen in any way. As a descendant of Andreas, a place in their ranks was his by right, and probably he could have helped Jack just like he was doing.

_Who watches the watchmen_? Both Andreas and Shaun had said it, and they weren't too wrong. Like the people, Templars and Assassins were humans. But there was another truth, the one Marcello had spoken out loud, and Desmond had learned it on his own skin. It was better to take a stand and fail, than not to take it and live with the regret. Because of his escape, the Assassins had paid with lives, and he would have even paid with his own if it hadn't been for Jack Newell's crazy race.

He was still buried deep in his thoughts when the door opened and Ayden Kartal entered the room.

"Mama Bear threw me out of the computer room" he sighed.

"Mama Bear? Who, Beatrice?" Desmond looked up.

"The very" Ayden sat on his bed and opened his laptop. "By the way, before they ever send you on the field… name is Merlin."

Judging by what he was doing, he had wormed his way into the Abstergo servers, and quite deep in them too.

"Won't they notice?" Desmond asked pointing at the screen.

"Notice? No way!" Ayden chuckled. "If you start from some points, Desmond, even if you were an eight-year-old with a modem, you'd manage to worm all their darkest secrets out!"

"You're joking!" Desmond replied.

"Of course I am! But the matter doesn't change: you just need to know where to look, and it would be like if you entered in their management offices and picked up their paperwork… or stuck some more documents in the middle."

"And you say they won't notice."

"Eventually they will. But we can always try to slow down their research. Even before you got here, your father sent a team to the Grand Temple to make a clean sweep. They have replaced CPUs and memory units from the machines with empty or malfunctioning copies, then they stationed there and waited for the Templars to get to the Temple."

"Why?"

Ayden smirked.

"So they believe you _dead_" he explained. "Amber was with them, she used the Apple on the Abstergo guards. Your father told us the Apple materializes thoughts, if enough people are bamboozled by it. The Abstergo guards were tricked into believing they would have found a body, and the Apple materialized a body. Amber descends from Giovanni Borgia, one of the very users of that Apple, so it wasn't too hard for her. Not exactly simple like faking Cecchino Cellini's death, but in 1500 and something the modern analysis methods did not exist, did they? For Benvenuto it was sufficient to take the body of a random guard, shove it in the coffin and put his brother's name on it, and nobody poked his nose in, but I'll be damned if at Abstergo they haven't sequenced your DNA from chromosome 1 to Y. In brief, the Templars have started smelling a rat, so I'm trying to buy some more time to the farce. I'm just sorry for your fans, they'll have to think you're dead too."

"Fans?"

"The Collective also divulged your story to the world, Desmond. You won't imagine how much stuff we got the 21st. They have filled Twitter with a hashtag with your name. John hit the bull's eye giving you the codename Starkiller… like him, you started something that might be a legacy. You have become a _hero_, Desmond. If you'll ever go out into the open again, there'd be people who if you only said "quick march!" would start following you like toy soldiers!"

Desmond stayed silent. According to Minerva, that would have been his fate if he had _renounced_ to save the world from the solar flare. Somehow, he had become _anyway_ a leader figure.

Ayden spoke more quietly.

"We couldn't ask for more from them, Desmond. Some of these would be able to roll up their sleeves and help us. And as little as they can do, in such a situation, we need all the help we can get. If some people stand up to the Templars… eventually, even _more_ will stand up to them!"

"It will be of no use, if Juno crushes everyone" Desmond mumbled looking down. "Stand up to the Templars, to other people, it's one thing, but… a… a goddess?" Desmond sketched quotation marks with his fingers. "The first Assassins had He Who Leads. They had Mars."

Ayden smirked.

"Why, don't we?"

He finished his work, closed his computer and put it on a desk, then he turned to Desmond.

"We have Mars. We have you, the Chosen One. Now we only need Eve."

He folded his arms.

"That's why we need to free Sarah."

* * *

><p><em>That night<em>

It had been months, if not years, Shaun had not seen stars that way. Considering the fact that he had passed about two years hiding into storehouses, large cities and crypts, he had not had too many chances to raise his head and look at the sky, and the rare times he could have done it, the city lights had prevented him from properly watching.

"Nice sight, isn't it?"

Rebecca had just appeared behind him, with a coat on her shoulders and a scarf around her neck. Despite it was not snowing, not at the moment, it was freezing cold.

"If tomorrow it snowed, we could get some plastic bags and use them to go sledding."

"Go sledding with plastic bags?" Shaun smirked. "Isn't it a bit too safe for you?"

Rebecca restricted herself to give him a bad look and get close to the railing.

"Why are you here? I thought Jack had told you the others would have watched a DVD in his room" he asked.

"Why are _you_ here? I thought you could have enjoyed _V for Vendetta_" Rebecca replied.

Shaun had to hold himself back not to have a start. He was almost sure Jack was doing that on purpose, but he could not deny he liked that movie.

"You know, Rebecca, not everyone here is so thoughtless to watch a movie every night. We're still _at war_, after all, you know?"

He should not have said it. Rebecca's face had clouded over.

"A war in which you have not chosen a side yet?" she asked.

_Oh, congratulations, Shaun! Now you've had it!_

"Shaun, I know, you would have never wanted to get stuck in this bog" Rebecca told him looking in his eyes. "But I thought you had gotten over it. Your information has saved lives. It's been also thanks to you we have saved the world. And I thought you enjoyed the company of Ayden and Matthew. What made you change your mind again?"

Knowing Rebecca, she wouldn't have left him alone until she wouldn't have heard the truth. Staying quiet or lying wouldn't have been a good idea.

"Andreas" he sighed. "When I wanted to get in the Animus, I thought I would have been an average Joe, and that maybe I could have observed society in this or that time. I didn't expect… I didn't expect an Assassin, and an important one in the bargain. Andreas van Wesel is one of the founders of medical science as we know it. If first I was compromised for what I had done, now I am because… I _exist_."

"And this should make you understand what is Desmond feeling" Rebecca smirked. "My father always says you should watch out for your wishes. They might_ come true_."

Shaun sighed and laid his hand on the railing.

"Will we ever have normal lives once again?"

"Up at seven, breakfast, work, lunch break, work again, dinner, a movie and lights out. Isn't that normal, in your opinion?"

"Not if they could knock the door down and take us away anytime. Not if we'll have to kill or run to live another day."

Rebecca sighed.

"They picked on you even when you were doing nothing but speaking your mind" she told Shaun. "What should we do, if even living as we would like is not safe? Keep our head down and get under the yoke? What kind of life would be, Shaun? What kind of life would be if we could not say that two and two makes four if the ones in power do not permit it?"

Shaun squeezed the railing in his hands. He still remembered when he had read Nineteen-Eighty-Four as a boy. _Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two makes four. If that is granted, all else follows_. Two and two makes four, was that enough to run, to kill, to be an Assassin?

He remembered the bad end to which Winston and Julia had come. It did not take too much imagination to see himself, too, in some Abstergo version of the Miniluv, with Alan Rikkin or whoever was in lead asking him how much was two plus two with the threat of an electric shock.

_Or worse, the Animus_. As far as he had understood, the normal procedure with Abstergo prisoners was handcuffs, blindfold and DNA sequencing. They could have known about Andreas. About _Mars_.

"Shaun, what's up? Cat got your tongue?"

"No, Rebecca, I've just got my hands tied with half a dozen sailor's knots, no problem, really!"

"Well done, you've just found your responsibilities!" Rebecca pulled a face. "You know… the things with which you tied your own hands when you started keeping your head high."

"So much for freedom!" Shaun burst out going back towards the door. He was opening it when Rebecca almost shouted after him.

"Shaun, you can't throw away what you did, what Andreas has done, what _we_ have done! There are people counting on you!"

Shaun stopped and turned his head.

"What should I do, then?"

"You said you don't see how you could be free. What about freeing the rest of the world instead, starting from the people you love?"

"Wake up, Rebecca, we never will!" Shaun resolved as he crossed the threshold and got back inside. Rebecca grabbed his wrist.

"I know. I know better than you" she told him. "But it's thanks to people like _us_… thoughtcrime only exists in fiction."

* * *

><p><em><strong>GLOSSARY:<strong>_

_**- Italian**_

_**Giusto = isn't it?**_

_**Va bene = OK**_

_**Spaccanapoli = Naples splitter. Like the three main streets in the city, it still exists and was expanded by the very Viceroy Alvarez.**_

_**Eccellenza = Your Excellency**_

_**Porca vacca! = holy cow! (literally, though, it would be slob cow)**_

_**Grattachecca = a typically Roman variation of the slush.**_

_**Non pensi un po' al resto del mondo? **__**= don't you think about the rest of the world?**_

_**Aiutare le persone, certo, uno scopo alto, sicuro, ma prima di pensare alle altezze, non faresti meglio ad abbassarti un po'? **__**= helping people, right, such a high purpose, of course, but before shooting so high, wouldn't it be better if you learn to stoop?**_

_**Ecco = that's it**_

_** - Dutch**_

_**Gedraag je = behave**_

_**Moeder = Mother**_

_**Andreas, je weet wat er aan de hand is. Vertel hem alles. = Andreas, you know the situation. Tell him everything.**_

_**Goed = All right**_

_**Rotzakken = assholes**_

_**- Latin**_

_**Quis custodies ipsos custodes? = Who watches the watchmen?**_


	24. The Mentor of Egypt

_**And one more time, this chapter turned out to be an authentic labour of Hercules. Oddly enough, considering I had imagined the events of this chapter since I had the idea for the story (even if the whole trio was in Hungary and Andreas was not present in the original idea - the character of Andreas came out only when I was writing Chapter 15, and was supposed to have only a brief appearance, but I liked developing him so much he eventually became one of the main.)**_  
><em><strong>I've rewritten part of the Naples story three times - I really could not get this chapter up with a lame plot, not if I could prevent it. As Billie Joe Armstrong would say, I'm not f***ing Oliver Bowden!<strong>_

_**By the way, I say thanks to my Facebook friend M.O. who helped me out with the Neapolitan dialect and SmugglerEllie and pakhnokh from deviantART who helped me out with Turkish and Arabic. I really wouldn't know what to do without all the translators who are kind enough to put up with me! =P**_

* * *

><p><em>July 30, 1532, Vienna<em>

_Dear Flavia and Alessio,_

_It seems the situation here is at a shift. Salm hasn't shown his face yet – not a fool at all – but some days ago, the Sultan wrote from the town of Esseg to King Ferdinand of Bohemia and Hungary, brother of the Kaiser, oddly enough. He also told him the declaration of war is nothing personal… it's the Kaiser the Sultain is aiming at._

_Now we know they're not too far, Isabel charged me and Andreas, the only two who could scheme half a speech, with going to Hungary and meet outside the town of Güns the Assassins in the Sultan's army. Cecchino and the team will stay in Vienna. The Ottoman army will be the bait for Salm to come out, and at his first false step, the Count will find himself with Cecchino's sword at his throat. After all, it takes a ghost to kill another ghost, no?_

_I don't know when I'll be able to send more letters, so I've started writing a journal every night. We're leaving tomorrow. I'm afraid._

_I only hope everything will sort out for the best._

_Marcello_

* * *

><p>Chapter 23<p>

The Mentor of Egypt

_Night, August 4, 1532, Countryside around Güns_

Marcello was exhausted, his clothes were filthy and his feet were in pain, and he was certain that Andreas, not used to such a journey, was in even worse conditions, but at least they were there.

They had had to move in the woods, and especially by night, to avoid indiscreet looks from the cities, and they had had to carry on with the few supplies they had and some rare wild berries. They could not afford lighting fires, not so close to a town.

Marcello, who since his first days of training had been used to the harsh life of a soldier, had quickly adapted to the journey, but Andreas had been almost a ball and chain. He got tired more quickly, he was not used to hunger at all, and despite he tried not to show it, he was visibly frightened and in a bad temper. Lately, he stopped quite often, leaned against a tree and sat down. The last time he had taken off a boot, Marcello had counted at least four or five blisters, but he was quite sure that, despite all the calluses he had grown on his feet during his times in the Bande Nere, he had at least one or two blisters under each sole.

"Is there anything you can do for those bloody blisters?" Marcello turned to Andreas at the umpteenth time his friend had stopped. "We're almost there!"

"I've heard soldiers puncture them, sometimes" Andreas mumbled. "But it's kind of dangerous, they could get infected if one isn't careful. For a start, I'd need something sharp, and then I'd have to wash everything with wine. I've brought everything I'd need to clean and stitch a wound, so there's no problem for that. Hand me the lantern, Marcello, I have to put the needle on the flame."

Marcello opened the lantern and let Andreas pass the needle on the candle, then he closed it. From the punctured blisters oozed out a liquid that looked like water, but probably wasn't, considering how those things hurt.

"Do you want me to get rid of yours?" Andreas asked looking up once he was done. Then, his expression changed, and his look fastened on a point at Marcello's shoulders. Marcello suddenly turned: there was another light behind him, and judging by the clothes and the armors the men were wearing, they were Turkish soldiers…

"Janissaries!" he whispered to Andreas. "On your feet, we have found them!"

Andreas skipped on the spot to put on a boot and then stayed still as the soldiers approached them. They were bound to be sentinels, or scouts.

Running would have been pointless and detrimental. For a start, Marcello had been intentioned to reach the Ottoman camp, and as far as he knew, there were some of Dogan's men who would have easily recognized them.

Moreover, if they had tried to run, they would have been the mice, and the Janissaries the cats. There would have been no way to convince them their intentions were good, if they gave them their shoulders.

Marcello stayed still until the soldiers were close to them, then he nodded, bowed his head and spelled out the best he could "_Selamun aleyküm_."

The soldiers immediately stopped, both visibly surprised.

One of them got closer and pointed his lantern at Marcello.

"_Kimsin? Kendini tanıt!_"

"_Adım Marcello, bu da arkadaşım Andreas. Bizler dostunuzuz, buraya sizi uyarmak için geldik._"

The Janissary brought the lantern nearer to Marcello's face, but the boy forced himself not to squint and not to turn a hair.

"_İnanmıyorsanız bizi kampa götürün. Dogan bizi tanır, o da size aynı şeyi söyleyecektir._" Marcello was brave enough to reply.

The soldier put the lantern away, but he pulled back Marcello's hood and drew his sword.

"_Tek bir yanlış adımda ölürsünüz._"

He pushed him, with the flat side of the sword, towards the direction they had come from. Behind him, Andreas, whose hood had been pulled back too, was pushed by the other soldier.

"What did they say?" he asked. Marcello could hear fear in his voice.

"We have nothing to fear as long as we behave" Marcello lied. "Just don't do anything fishy, and they won't hurt a hair of your head."

The soldier hit his back with the hilt of the sword, and Marcello hastily explained that he had done nothing but passing the message to Andreas.

The journey towards the camp lasted less than an hour, but with the fear Marcello felt, it almost seemed an age. The fact Andreas was visibly more scared than him did not help at all.

Some soldiers and officers had gotten out of the tents to see who or what the scouts had taken to the camp. One of them, quite over the hill – was he really a soldier? – approached them.

"_Demek çocuklarımi buldunuz, Güzel._" he told the Janissaries. "Marcello and Andreas, aren't you?" he said in Italian.

Andreas immediately nodded, visibly happy that someone was speaking a language more familiar to him than Turkish. The soldier pulled Andreas's sleeve and checked on Marcello's forehead, then he grinned.

"_Bunlar onlar. Bu ikisine güvenebilirsiniz. Onları bana bırakın_" he said, laying a hand on Marcello's shoulder. Marcello immediately noticed a burn scar on his ring finger.

That man could be no one but Dogan.

"_Bekle, asker_!"

A man with a long beard, sumptuous clothes, and an impressive turban was making his way through the camp.

"_Vezir-i-Azam hazretlerine minnettarım_" Dogan bowed his head, and the Janissaries did the same.

"_Kızıl saçlı oğlan benimle gelecek. Gidelim._"

Marcello looked at Dogan and then at the Grand Vizier, while what seemed a lump of ice moved upwards in his stomach. Not even Dogan seemed to understand what was happening. So why did the Grand Vizier want to take him away?

"_Bir hata olmalı_" he tried to explain, stuttering and gesticulating, but the Janissaries did not give heed to him, and took his sword away instead.

At that point, Marcello could not hold himself back. _No one_ was taking Vanni's sword from him, Janissary, Grand Vizier or whatever.

He lunged at the guard who had grabbed the sword and shouted "No! _Onu geri verin! _ Hand it back!"

He only found himself with his own sword pointed at him.

"_Lütfen_…" he begged. "Dogan, my master gave me it on his deathbed. I don't want to lose it!"

Dogan carefully approached the soldier and tried to reason with him. After a pair of everlasting minutes, the Janissary handed Dogan the sword, and Dogan passed it to Andreas.

"Marcello… see you later" Dogan grinned and led Andreas away.

The Grand Vizier lifted his eyebrows.

"_Marcello_?" he asked.

"_Evet, bu benim adım_."

The Grand Vizier only smirked, then he led him to what seemed the largest tent and left him in there.

Marcello quickly looked around and tried to understand in what troubles was he stuck. Apart from the scene he had made for the sword, he had not done anything. He had just arrived. Why him? The Grand Vizier had let Andreas go…

"There's no error, boy." A man had just entered the room. If possible, his clothes were even more sumptuous than the Grand Vizier's, and his clothing made him look less thin than he actually was, he had mustache and a turban bigger than his head.

Even if Marcello had never seen him before, it was impossible not to know who that man was… he was standing in front of _Sultan Suleiman_!

He still remembered Papà mentioning him he had had troubles with a Sultan, at a point. Was he going to pay for that?

"Whatever happened, it wasn't me!" he stuttered trying in vain to dry his sweating hands on his clothes. He would have added a title, but he did not want to risk offending the monarch with a wrong one.

The Sultan only approached him and grinned.

"Ibrahim told me a soldier called you Marcello."

"Sì, that's my name."

"Your _real_ name?"

Marcello nodded.

"Actually…" he said, rubbing a foot on the ground. "There was always a running joke in my family… my father used to say his fake name was real for me."

He felt safer after that question. He did not know why, but he had the feeling his first name had rung some bells to the Sultan.

A thought occurred to him, but he quickly chased it away. No, it was not possible. Not _him_.

_A friend in Constantinople, you said, Papà… what kind of friends did you get?_ Of all the things Marcello could have never imagined about himself, surely the fact a Sultan had given a suggestion for his name was on the top of the list.

"You knew my father, didn't you?" Marcello asked looking up. "You knew Ezio Auditore."

"And you… just seem to have his same inclination to troublesome situations" the Sultan hinted at a grin. "I won't ask you what takes you here. I'm afraid I only increased his troubles asking him for help. After all he had done, I had to hold back _my_ father before…"

He fell silent for a moment, in which he seemed to understand something.

"He's gone, isn't he?"

"Almost eight years ago" Marcello said looking at his boots. "But my mother is still alive and well. And I have an older sister, and she'll marry my best friend soon… or so I hope. They really look good together."

"The boy with whom you came here?"

"No, not him. They're in Napoli now. My sister's fiancé is a sculptor apprentice in Benvenuto Cellini's workshop."

"Oh" the Sultan nodded, then picked up a piece of paper and started writing something on it.

"So, you are Marcello Auditore… and your fellow traveler, what's his name?"

"Andreas van Wesel junior. He'll get on all right, too, he speaks Greek" Marcello hinted at a grin. The Sultan put a piece of paper in his hands.

"Show this to the guards and you won't have to respond to anyone of wherever you're going."

"Why are you doing all of this for me?" Marcello took the sheet with a certain reverence.

"Your father saved my life, and saved the Empire" the Sultan resolved. "This is the least I can do in return."

* * *

><p><em>August 5<em>

_As it seemed, Papà used to know the Sultan. Now, Andreas and I have a safe-conduct for the Turkish camp, we are hosted by the small cell of Assassins infiltrated in the army and – to Andreas's delight – we finally have had a hot meal and a straw mattress to sleep on._

_The army is moving siege to the town of Güns. As far as we know, it's small and poorly defended. But they have put up a resistance. A courageous resistance._

_The Sultan plans to lure the Imperial troops in a trap focusing them on the town. He's right, in Dogan's opinion: the army would be exposed to risks if they decided to march towards Vienna, and if Salm is really around, he'd take the chance to kill the Grand Vizier, or the very Sultan, and the only force able to stand up to the Kaiser would be gone._

_The Sultan is trying to pay back the life debt he had with my father, but as it seems that debt is fated to remain unsolved._

* * *

><p><em>January 20, 2013, Rockport Headquarters<em>

Desmond closed the book and stuck a strip of paper between the pages he had reached. If his watch was not wrong, there would have been an assembly in any time, and immediately after it, Rebecca had requested his presence for another Animus session.

He put the book back in his locker and rushed downstairs, stopping only to grab Rusty and drag him away before he tore to shreds the shoes Shaun had left in the hallway. There wasn't much left to save of them, and then again they were not suitable at all for an Assassin in action, but Desmond was almost convinced Shaun was up to have the itch to call for Victoria Stillwell too.

He arrived in the basement holding Rusty in his arms and dumped him near Rebecca, who was making some maintenance in the "new" Animus, then he took a seat in the circle of chairs.

Ayden left what could be considered his den in the computer room, reached his chair and sat down, not before he had in his hands the remote control of the projector.

"We have a plan" he announced. "Stefanie managed to examine the surveillance modes of Level 4 of the Philadelphia Abstergo compound, the one in which they're holding Sarah."

He hit a button on the remote and a series of what seemed pictures taken by a mobile phone appeared. Desmond recognized the familiar shapes of an access badge slot and a numeric keypad, not too dissimilar from the ones he had seen in the Roman training section.

"I've already opened doors like that one" he announced with a smirk.

"Yeah, when they wanted you out" Rebecca looked up from the Animus. "Unless they want to stick a mole among our lines, they won't let us take Sarah away so easily."

"That's one of the highest security compounds of all Abstergo. It was there they turned a small boy called Travers Orelov into what we knew as Daniel Cross" Beatrice continued. "The only reason why they still use access badges instead of retinal scanners is it isn't worth their while."

"Or it wasn't, at least" Matthew intervened. "Otto Schmidt, one of the Templar big wigs, had diabetes, a minimal retina damage and the scanners would have no longer recognized him."

"And we also have to say tampering a few batches of his insulin was enough for him to _requiescere in pace_. That was the reason why Stefanie was there in first place" Jack continued. "Don't ask me how did she tampered the insulin and got away with it, though, I really have no clue. By the way, Schmidt died weeks ago, but they still haven't replaced the identification system, they would risk too much doing it with Sarah still inside. Sooner or later, though, they'll replace it."

Desmond could guess where that speech would have led. A time would have come when the security systems, to be replaced, would have had to be deactivated. Or Sarah would have had to be moved.

"We must try to find out their intentions, then" Desmond commented. "If they'll try to replace the security systems without moving Sarah, I guess we'll have to take the place of the electricians. If they moved Sarah instead…"

"Taking the place of the guards is out of question. I'll eat my hat if they won't move Sarah without involving Berg" Ayden mumbled.

"Well, at that point we'll have to understand where they'll be taking her and study their journey" Matthew said. "There are Abstergo compounds in every state, and there's at least one in any great nation, but we'll have to see which ones are fully equipped for the surveillance and analysis of an Animus subject."

"Rome" Desmond immediately said.

"I doubt they still consider the Rome compound a safe place after you wrecked it" Matthew smirked. "But even with newer Animus technology which can be taken anywhere, Philadelphia and Rome are the only two compounds equipped for… holding prisoners. At this point, if Rome can't be considered safe for them, I'd resolve that they will not move Sarah so soon. And as they'd dig up less shit reorganizing in Rome than creating a detention block somewhere else… we'd only have to relocate two teams, one in Philadelphia and another in Ciampino, to have a chance to catch them. But fix here, fix there… it will take them time. Maybe they'd even accept to take the risk of fixing everything with Sarah inside. There'd be no need for retinal scanners with Berg outside the door holding a Kalashnikov."

"They could stick to what we're saying… or not" Beatrice continued. "We must keep an eye on them and try to find out their move. In the meantime, we have to be ready for everything. The Florence team has been wiped out, so we'll have to move Sharifa and Fahim from London and Nayara and Robbie from Rotterdam. The closest safehouse is in Switzerland, but if we find something closer…"

"There's absolutely no signal in the Monteriggioni sanctuary" Rebecca commented looking up from the Animus. "If we could arrive there, it would be the perfect safehouse. There would only be a risk if someone knows their faces."

"Good. I'll tell them" Ayden announced going back to his computer.

"We'll adjourn as soon as we have more news from Stefanie" Beatrice said standing up. "Rebecca, do you know why Shaun isn't here?"

"He told me he has the flu" Rebecca shrugged.

"Yeah, I know what kind of _influenza_ he got" Jack mumbled. "Thinking bad. Since he got into the Animus, he took Andreas's same second thoughts without getting to his results. Andreas trusted me when I told him I'd be watching his back…"

"When _Marcello_ told him" Desmond corrected him, immediately remembering his first night in Monteriggioni.

"Let's not waste time on this now" Amber intervened. "Jack, Desmond, let's start with the session. I'll mind the database."

As the room got gradually empty, Desmond and Jack walked towards the two lounge chairs and sat on them. Amber opened a laptop computer and started hitting keys. Desmond could see Beatrice coming back and siding Amber with another computer, then he found himself in the memory corridor.

"_Desmond, can you hear me?_" Amber's voice echoed everywhere and nowhere around him.

"Loud and clear!" Desmond answered looking around. The mirror fragments still reflected his face.

"_Good! I'll load some database entries before you enter those memories. Seriously, is Shaun stupid or what? He sticks you in front of Benvenuto Cellini without saying a word…_"

As Desmond chuckled, some data started floating in front of him, and in moments he found himself reading some biographies.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Don Pedro Alvarez de Toledo y Zuniga<strong>__, known as Pietro Alvarez by the Neapolitan, was Viceroy of Naples from 1532 to 1553, year in which he passed away in the city of Florence. His period in that position was full of lights and shadows. He expanded the city, created new districts, put a halt to the abuses of the local nobility and elevated the prestige of the vicerealm to almost reach the one of an independent State, but he tried to institute the Inquisition, and ruled with a heavy hand. We could say much better about his son Garcia and his daughter Eleonora, but that's another story. By the way he was no Templar, just a man… let's say a honest man… who believed in the strong arm._

_**Benvenuto Cellini**__, second child of four, sculptor, goldsmith and writer… and according to Flavia's memoirs, Assassin and utter storyteller. He left to the posterity an autobiography in which he exaggerated some facts, twisted others and completely left out some. For example, he used his memoirs to confirm the rumors of his brother Giovanfrancesco's death in a skirmish in Roma, when, despite he had faced Death indeed, Cecchino only left the city, and we only know this because of Flavia and the Animus. After the death of Giovanni dalle Bande Nere, he was the one who took up his role of spy, using his profession of artist to spy on noblemen, Popes and rulers._

_Moreover, he improved some firearms for the Brotherhood's exclusive use, and built pistols. And he was skilled in shooting with them as much as he was in crafting: it was with one of his own harquebuses he assassinated the Duke of Bourbon in 1527._

_The House of the __**Falcone De Vigiliis**__ was a family of Southern Italy, more precisely of the small town of Bisceglie, that in different circumstances – just consider that Southern Italy never had a cities' uprising like the North, and that's the reason why a party of morons dressed up as Templar Knights proclaim their will of secession of the Northern regions – could have created a seignory like the Medici in Florence. By the way, they were in chief of the institutions in their town, and some of them even found their fortune in the capital of the vicerealm, Naples. The house got extinct in the male line after 1600, but the name Falcone still exists in regions of the Southern Italy like Apulia and Sicily._

* * *

><p>"Okay, I'm done!" Desmond announced. He immediately found himself in the memory corridor again. Just, this time the man in the mirrors was Alessio Falcone.<p>

* * *

><p>"<em>Viceroy Colonna died more than a month ago. We are in a crucial period, the seat is vacant. Our inquiries confirmed that Alvarez is not involved with the Templars in any way. He's just an honest man who believes in a heavy hand, but he'd never step over morality and law for his purposes. But the mission is far from over. If Alvarez is not a Templar, this must means our old friends with the cross are plotting in the shadows not too far, maybe with the intention to snatch the title from him and hand it to one of their puppets.<em>

_But there's another thought gnawing at me, now the situation seems to be calm. My family is here in Napoli. Can I hope to go and look for them, to be welcomed, to have another place I can call home?"_

* * *

><p><em>August 10, 1532, Napoli, Via dei Tribunali<em>

The streets of Napoli started to get empty at the sundown. The sight of the red sun on the sea was amazing, but Alessio Falcone had neither time nor will to pay attention to it.

Benvenuto was at the brothel, for a change, and Flavia was at Eleonora's, so there was no danger they noticed his absence.

Since Don Pietro had mentioned the Falcone in the city, he had lived with fear. He wanted to meet them, to face them. But he feared the look they might have had at him, their possible reaction, maybe the scorn they might have felt for him.

Filippo Falcone, his father, had once been part of that family. They had given him for dead when he had been twelve. Was it possible their reaction to finding out the child they had believed dead before adulthood had lived long enough to sire would have been different?

_Wake up, Alessio. It's the same people who left your father in the Borgias' hands. Who left _you_ in a Borgia's hands._

He was wearing the grey cape Francesco's sister had sewn for his father. He wanted them to recognize him… for one of them, at least.

Despite he only had silence around, Alessio felt exactly like if he had someone's stare on his back. It had been a long time since he had given up wandering alone at that time. In the Brotherhood, he had no reason to.

He called upon his eagle vision to look for the door of the palace, or his family crest, or any useful clue. Long and wide as that street was, it would have been as hard as finding a needle in a haystack.

_Hang on… haystack? Of course, the rooftops!_

If Rodrigo Falcone De Vigiliis really lived in that street, and considering how long and wide it was, climbing on a rooftop there would have been an amazing overall view!

Without thinking again, Alessio rushed towards one of the walls and climbed onto it until he reached the roof. The Sun had set, dyeing the horizon of an amazing purple, and in another moment Alessio would have lost no time in enjoying the sight, but he could not chase away the thought he was up to face his relatives – someone who could have had responsibilities for his father's conditions in his last years.

He was calling upon his second sight again when he heard a noise behind his back. He suddenly turned his head, but he saw nothing but the curtain of a guard post fluttering in the sea breeze and a seagull fighting against some pigeons over food scraps.

Yet his sixth told him someone had been there. He wasn't trained well enough to know who, and when, but he could feel a faint trace.

He would have inquired further if, as he turned, something else had not caught his attention. A banner on a building glinted in gold, and normally looking at it, Alessio could distinguish the same crest embroidered on his cape.

_There they were._

He quickly looked around, and found a wire extended from a side of the street to the other. He ran towards the building to which the wire had been attached, jumped on the roof, stepped on the wire and quickly crossed the street. He heard another noise of steps on tiles, just like if he was not the only one running on rooftops.

He stopped.

No noise.

"Flavia… Benvenuto…" he mumbled to no one in particular. "If this is a prank, it's not funny…"

No one answered. A shiver ran up his neck. Who was after him, and why?

He felt like he was playing statues with a stranger, and that meant nothing good. In Roma and Firenze, Francesco Vecellio made the youngest Apprentices play statues to train them to tail, approach and strike, and if in Venezia such a training was not put in force by Francesco, it was because Pietro Aretino took care of it.

"_Guagliò, scinn abbasc, che c faj l'ngopp?_" a voice from a nearby rooftop shouted at him.

_Guards… that's all I needed!_

Alessio quickly slid down the roof and got in the street. If there was something he did not want to do, that was ending up in trouble for such a stupid thing. He would have broken at least two tenets, if he had been caught. Don Pietro knew who he was, and if the news had circulated, it wouldn't have taken him too much to sum it up.

He turned around a corner, arrived to the stables of the palace and dived into a haystack, patiently waiting for the guard to scram. But the guard did not get away. Alessio barely had the time to hear again the same frenzied steps he had had behind himself until moments before, and then the guard groaned.

It seemed a procedure so familiar Alessio cursed himself for not thinking about it. Whoever had been after him… was bound to be another Assassin.

As a confirmation to his hypothesis, a hooded figure slowly went down one of the buildings and touched the ground, then he slowly and calmly approached the haystack where Alessio was hiding.

"I know you're in there."

His lower face was covered by a graying beard, and he wore a tan robe and blue trousers. At a wrist, Alessio could discern a hookblade just like Marcello's.

"Come on, get out!"

He couldn't be anything but a stranger. He also had a very pronounced accent, that Alessio could not identify.

The scar on his left hand left no space to doubt: that man was an Assassin. That last confirmation was what pushed Alessio to get out of the hay.

"I did not expect Brothers in here" the Assassin said hinting at a grin.

"There ain't, actually" Alessio shook the straw off his hair. "Me, my mentor and my girlfriend are here to keep an eye on the Viceroy's seat. But it's a matter of weeks before we go back to Firenze. What about you?"

"Firenze, you said? You cannot help me, then" the Assassin sighed.

"You are a Brother. If I can't, maybe Benvenuto will be able to do something" Alessio hinted at a grin. "By the way… I'm Alessio" he held out his hand.

The stranger grinned, this time a real grin.

"Iskender. If I could not achieve anything, what is your mentor's name? Benvenuto, and then?"

"Benvenuto Cellini. There can be no mistake, wherever he goes, half a city talks about him. For better or for worse."

Iskender laid a hand on Alessio's shoulder and walked away.

"Thanks, _ibni_."

Alessio watched him climb one of the walls of the palace and enter through a window.

_So he wasn't following me… but the crest!_, he resolved as Iskender vanished inside. Who knew what Rodrigo Falcone had done to fall out with a foreign Assassin!

Whatever was the matter, one of the first things Alessio had learned once in the Brotherhood was not to interfere with another Assassin, especially an elder one, if he did not need any kind of help, so he walked back to Benvenuto's workshop.

At last, the air was turning cool. Minerva the barbet was laying down on the doorstep with her tongue sticking out of her muzzle, probably trying to get cool on the stone.

"I'm pretty sure you want a drink, don't you?" Alessio knelt and patted her head. Minerva immediately got up and wagged her tail.

Alessio chuckled.

"_Va bene_, let's go to the fountain, then." Alessio went inside and got an empty water jar for good measure, grabbed a piece of rope and tied it around Minerva's neck, then he dragged her towards the nearest fountain.

As Minerva happily plunged her muzzle in the basin, Alessio put the jar beneath the spout and started filling it. At least, he would have had a good excuse for when Benvenuto would have asked him where he had gone.

"Still walking around?"

Iskender had appeared from just behind a corner, and he was visibly amused.

"It's summer, and it's damn hot too" Alessio replied shaking a little the jar. "A man's got to drink."

"And his dog too?" Iskender grinned as Minerva approached him and started sniffing at his feet and clothes.

"What were you looking for in that place?" Alessio asked as he finished filling the jar.

"Signs" Iskender sighed as he patted Minerva's head. "I'm not looking for something, _ibni_, I'm looking for someone."

"What did you call me…?" Alessio mumbled, but Iskender did not answer. He asked another question instead.

"What about you? You were going in there, too. Were you looking for something?"

Alessio got back Minerva and sighed. He had learned the hard way there was no point in hiding matters from people, but it still was not easy to open up, even with Brothers.

"Answers" he finally sighed, walking towards the workshop again.

Iskender patted his shoulder.

"Have you ever heard about Ezio Auditore?" he asked. "He was looking for answers, too, when I heard his story. He risked his life more than once, his partner was kidnapped and almost killed, and yet the only thing he managed to find was my ancestor's grave. And at that point…"

Alessio smirked and shook his head.

"I may have never met Ezio, but I know his children" he interrupted the elder Assassin. "Flavia is at the workshop, actually. Her brother is in Vienna now… or somewhere around there."

He stayed silent for a moment.

"_Aspetta_, you mean Altair… was your ancestor?"

Iskender nodded.

"Just… don't tell Benvenuto" Alessio quickly spat out. "If he freaks out with a hot tool or something like that in his hands, he might get seriously hurt. I'll tell him when he's calm if he has to know."

"Freaks out?" Iskender was visibly puzzled.

"Whenever he hears "Altair" he acts worse than a little girl" Alessio chuckled "And no offence meant to little girls."

"What I meant is…" Iskender continued. "Answers may be the thing one could crave the most, but once you have them in front of you, you realize most of the times it was not what you were looking for."

He sighed.

"You were looking for your family, didn't you?"

Alessio pulled a face.

"How do you know?"

Iskender pointed at the crest on his cape.

"You said you come from Firenze. And you were hiding from that guard. So, despite you are somehow related to the people living in that palace, they do not know you and you do not know them."

Alessio nodded. The old man was clever.

"Didn't you think they may not believe you? They might have called guards. You're an Assassin…"

"A _Veterano_, actually. Apprentice, rank eight."

"Hide in plain sight. Never compromise the Brotherhood. You risked to break both. And for what?"

Alessio did not reply. What had seemed so easy just a few hours before now looked as it was: totally suicidal.

"I've seen what they can do you in a jail, Alessio Falcone. I've seen what they do with people sentenced to death. I barely escaped execution myself. If that is what you want to risk, suit yourself."

Alessio looked down and mumbled "I'm sorry".

He had not been scolded that way since he and Marcello had escaped from the Villa del Trebbio. It probably was even worse, because he was being told off by a man he didn't even know.

"Don't be sorry. Just make sure you think before you act."

They were at the door of the workshop again. Alessio let Minerva go, then walked towards the door, still holding the water jar in a hand.

Iskender smiled at him.

"If you have arrived where you are, you're a clever boy. I'm only telling you this because you should not waste your life chasing ghosts."

Alessio smiled in return.

"_Grazie, maestro_."

As Iskender shrugged and turned away, Alessio said "_Aspetta!_". The Master Assassin stopped and looked at him.

"What's up, _ibni_?"

"You still haven't told me what means that name you called me" Alessio smirked. "And… if you're alone… well, I guess Benvenuto will have no problem with putting you up."

* * *

><p><em>January 20, 2013, Rockport Headquarters<em>

"Iskender? Was he that Iskender?" Amber's voice was the first thing Desmond heard as he got out of the Animus.

"The Mentor of Egypt, that's right" Desmond mumbled. "Ezio sent to him the three Italian disciples who had followed him to Constantinople, along with one of Yusuf's men, to save him from a series of troubles involving memory seals from the Library of Alexandria… I really don't understand what was he doing in Naples."

"Three disciples? Hang on, I thought there only were Emiliana Santi and Paolo Simoni with Ezio in Constantinople…" Jack stuttered sitting up in turn.

"Probably Marcello never met the third. We know Emiliana and Paolo came back, but the third probably remained in Constantinople."

Jack shrugged.

"Maybe" he mumbled. "By the way, do we know anything about this Iskender? Has Shaun ever made an entry about him?"

"We can check" Amber said fiddling with the laptop. "Oh, here it is. Ayden, can I send it to your workspace?"

Ayden, stationed behind one of the computers, nodded and opened the file.

"And it's quite big too" Jack mumbled. "Two attachments… I bet Shaun had his fun with it."

"I'd say Tommy had his fun" Ayden said clicking on an attachment. "Check out this family tree!"

On the wall screen appeared a series of names linked by lines. Some of them were under pictures, portraits or Animus snapshots. It was with a grin that Desmond recognized Altair, Ezio and Connor, but he pulled a face noticing Haytham Kenway's cocked hat and cocky outline.

"Well, every family has a black sheep" Jack commented. "As for the remainder, you really can't complain… my family tree stops to Ezio Auditore and to my paternal great-grandfather Arnold Newell, a British doctor who gave Erich Albert a good tanning on Christmas Day."

The four lines of Altair, Ezio, Aquilus and Connor were well distinguished, and Desmond could easily see that Connor was linked to his father's name. In Altair's case, there was a dotted line linking Sef to Lorraine Riley, his mother, with the only interruption of the name "Iskender", in Ezio's case, instead, someone had hastily added to Flavia's name a double line linking her to Alessio Falcone.

"The question is still… what was he doing in Naples?" Amber said.

"He only was passing through, actually, he was heading North" Matthew got down in the basement holding what seemed a tray full of sandwiches. "Lunch time, guys. And before you protest, Rebecca, it's just peanut butter and jelly. If someone wants a second helping, you only have to ask."

Desmond hurried to grab the biggest sandwich and take a bite, then he quickly swallowed and asked Matthew "Where was he heading?". The sticky remains of the filling made his tongue furry, and he had to swallow two more times before Amber and Rebecca stopped frowning at him.

"You're worse than Shaun, you know?" Rebecca told Matthew before taking her sandwich.

"It does not depend on you" Matthew left the tray on a table. "You should hear my son when he sees the tiniest piece of cabbage in his plate… I'm far too used to tell him I'm not secretly forcing him to eat certain vegetables…"

"You have a son? Really?"

Matthew searched through his pockets, pulled out his smartphone and showed the picture of a small boy busy doodling with crayons.

"He's called Joseph. His mum and the others at the commune he lives in call him JC. He's four years old and a little terror" he said with a grin. "I haven't seen him in months."

"What's the C for?" asked Rebecca, completely distracted by the picture.

"Conrad. His full name is Joseph Conrad Ackermann."

"Joseph Conrad? Nice name" Desmond smirked. "It rings some bells, actually. Did his namesake act in Apocalypse Now?"

Jack grimaced, slurring "The horror!" with his mouth full.

"You still have a long way to read, Desmond" Matthew smirked and patted his back.

"Hang on, Matt, I don't get it… "the horror, the horror"… wasn't that a line from the movie?" Desmond asked as Matt turned to grab a sandwich.

"The point is, Desmond, Apocalypse Now is adapted from a book" Jack said swallowing another mouthful of sandwich. "And Joseph Conrad was the writer."

"Okay, now can I sink out of sight" Desmond resolved taking the nearest seat and finishing his sandwich.

As a boy, he had wanted to see the world, but it was now he had gone back to the nest he noticed how much he still had to discover. He remembered Alessio's words… _we can do this all. We can make war, we can build, we can love…_ if they really were an ante litteram Frankenstein case of Those Who Came Before, how had they gotten that far?

Maybe, Those had thought about creating the perfect worker, but after a starting push, and many years spent looking after themselves, the perfect workers had rebuilt the world.

Who cared if some things, more than a discovery, had been a retrieval? Every man had had a teacher, at some point of their lives. Humanity had moved forward in a handover, like in a relay race. And now they risked to lose all the long way they had gone.

What would have Juno done if she had seized power? She was the last of her species, but if the Philosopher's Stone had really worked with him… what if she somehow convinced someone to create another… if there were still remains of beings like her… would humanity be wiped out? How much would keeping one move ahead from the game work? Would it have been enough to organize a strong resistance?

"Desmond, what's up?" Jack asked.

"What if we fail?"

"Don't even think about it" Jack replied finishing his sandwich. "Juno is one. We are dozens. Isn't that an advantage?"

"Not if she uses the Templars as a tool" Desmond replied.

"Desmond… it's not over until Sora Mignotta sings."

Desmond would have wanted to reply further, then a ridiculous vision was outlined in front of him: Shaun, in nightwear, with his glasses on the slant, hair uncombed and a zombie-like gait, grabbed a sandwich, sat on one of the lounge chairs, ate, then swallowed what looked like aspirin and stayed sleepily there.

"Huh, so it _was_ flu indeed."

"Oh, well, as he can't work in any other way…" Rebecca commented booting up the Animus. "He'd better pay Andreas a visit. Desmond, Jack, what date do you suggest?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>GLOSSARY<strong>_

_**- Turkish**_

_**Kimsin? Kendini tanıt! =**__** Who are you?**_

_**Adım Marcello, bu da arkadaşım Andreas. Bizler dostunuzuz, buraya sizi uyarmak için geldik. **__**My name is Marcello, and this is Andreas. We're on your side, we came to warn you**_

_**İnanmıyorsanız bizi kampa götürün. Dogan bizi tanır, o da size aynı şeyi söyleyecektir.**__**Don't you believe us? Take us to the camp. There's a soldier, Dogan.**__**He knows us. He'll tell you the same thing**_

_**Tek bir yanlış adımda ölürsünüz. = **__**Just one false step and you die**_

_**Demek çocuklarımi buldunuz, Güzel. = **__**Good. You seem to have found my boys**_

_**Bunlar onlar. Bu ikisine güvenebilirsiniz. Onları bana bırakın.**__**It's them. Leave them to me, you can trust these two**_

_**Bekle, asker!**__**Wait, soldier**_

_**Vezir-i-Azam hazretlerine minnettarım = **__**You have my regards, Grand Vizier**_

_**Kızıl saçlı oğlan benimle gelecek. Gidelim =**__** The red-haired boy must come with me. Now.**_

_**Bir hata olmalı = **__**There must be an error**_

_**Onu geri verin! = **__**Hand it back!**_

_**Lütfen = **__**Please**_

_**Evet, bu benim adım = **__**Yeah, that's my name**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>- Neapolitan dialect<strong>_

_**Guagliò, scinn abbasc, che c faj l'ngopp? = **__**Boy, get down! What are you doing over there?**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>- Italian<strong>_

_**Va bene = **__**OK**_

_**Aspetta = **__**wait**_

_**Veterano = **__**veteran, Apprentice rank 8**_

_**Grazie, maestro = **__**thank you, master**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>The "influenza" Jack is referring to is both the flu and the Italian word for "influence". <strong>_

"_**Ibni" is Arabic for "my son".**_

"_**Sora Mignotta" is Alessio's – and consequentially, it will be used by other Assassins – nickname for Juno. Literally translated from Roman dialect, it means "Sister Slut". (first appearance in Chapter 5 of "Ghosts of Christmas Past")**_


	25. Sins of the mothers

_**Ohh-kay, the Great Revelation, a.k.a. the Great Spoiler or The Bomb, is in this chapter.**_

_**I'll say nothing else. Just enjoy! =)**_

* * *

><p>Chapter 24<p>

Sins of the Mothers

_August 11, 1532, Turkish Camp_

It was the first time Andreas saw Marcello Auditore so cheerful.

They were staying at the camp during the siege, and they had spent most of the time with Dogan, discussing about the strategies of the Imperial army.

Luckily, most of the Assassins were staying far behind the front lines, and Andreas often caught Marcello busy chatting with them, sharing tales, or even sparring.

It seemed Marcello had been born in a camp, for the way he moved, the way he was so fond of the place despite having been there only for a few days, and Andreas was not so surprised when he heard him telling a man called Ferenc about some events happened in a military camp near a town called Abano when he was a small boy.

"… and when he saw me at the top of the tree, Pietro was all like this…" Marcello was narrating as he mimicked a terrorized face. "And he started skipping on the spot trying to call for someone to bring me down… before other soldiers could reach him, I had already dived in the pond… I spent the remainder of the day in my breeches and barefoot 'cause my clothes were drenched, but it was totally worth it, you should have seen his face…"

"Your master must be proud of you" Ferenc commented. Judging by his accent, he was a native of the zone.

"He died two years after my father" Marcello sighed. "And I had another before meeting the one I have now, but that's another tale…"

Ferenc gestured him to go on.

"Three years ago, my sister and I were in Roma because Firenze was threatened by Spanish troops" Marcello began. "There were some fellow citizens of ours too… at a point, we were patrolling the city when four of us were attacked. We ran for help, and one of the kids, Giuseppe Simoni…"

"Simoni? Like in _Paolo _Simoni?" Ferenc asked hinting at a grin.

"Sì, Giuseppe is Paolo's son. The eldest. He and his sister were born in the same year but he's ten months older."

Ferenc chuckled.

"The boy's name rings some bells, I have to say."

"I don't think it's a case" Marcello resolved. "One of the first stories my father told me after he had spilled the beans involved a Master Assassin called Yusuf. Paolo surely knew him."

"Well, if Paolo called his son Giuseppe, I wonder how did Filippo name his child… he had a great imagination…"

Marcello lifted his right eyebrow in a way that to Andreas seemed very, really comical.

"Filippo?"

"Sure, Filippo" Ferenc answered. "The youngest, most shy… and when he was stuck in a tight corner, the most lethal. Emiliana told me that eight years before they came to Constantinople, he had saved a Master Assassin from a deadly trap."

Ferenc smirked.

"And he really seemed to know a lot about deadly traps, judging by the way he managed to take the Mentor of Egypt away from the block without getting a scratch."

"Did he have a grey cape?" Andreas intervened. "With a falcon on it?"

Ferenc nodded and gestured to Andreas.

"Exactly. I'd have never said_ you_ knew him, though."

"Neither of us did" Marcello reentered the conversation. "As far as I know, he died seventeen years ago. Andreas and I know his son."

"Dead?" Ferenc asked, in an almost unbelieving tone. "I'm sorry. How did it happen?"

"He was attacked" Marcello explained. "He could have defended himself probably, but I thought his son was his first thought. I've been told that the two Apprentices with him managed to take Alessio to safety, but he got killed, and one of the two boys was injured… and here we close the circle, as the injured boy eventually became my first teacher."

"And the kid… Alessio… is he alright?" Ferenc asked.

"He surely is!" Andreas intervened again. "He's up to marry Marcello's sister… isn't he, Marcello?"

"If everything goes well" Marcello resolved with a grin. "But I think it will."

The Sun was setting, and most of the troops were leaving the camp to attempt a night-time sortie. It would have been a marvelous summer evening, hadn't it been for the war.

When, on his eleventh birthday, his mother had taken him aside and had told him the story of the Brotherhood and of their thousand-year old fight to grant free will to humanity, Andreas had thought he could have become a hero, and that one day people like him would have put an end to the teachers' highhandedness, to the canings on the hands, to the snobbish looks of the nobles' children frowning at him every time he crossed the hallways of the palace with his father's bag in his arms.

_Nothing is true, everything is permitted_. His mother had told him those words meant trust in yourself and answer to yourself. Never let others condition or command you.

His father did not share that opinion. As official doctor of the Kaiser's court, he had a reputation that a "disobedient son" would have irreparably besmeared.

_Nothing is true, everything is permitted_, and at the age of fourteen Andreas had started openly defying his father and teachers.

It had been at that point his father had taken him to a hospital on the battlefield, had shoved the surgeon's tools in his hands and had left him in a tent full of wounded men with the order to treat them.

Many of the men he had operated had survived, but those hours spent with yells in his ears, the stench of blood filling his nose, the terror that death could claw any of those men… of those _people_…

The Siege of Vienna, in 1529, had undermined Andreas's certainties as much as the discovery of the Creed. He had kept working with his mother, gathering information, he had even gotten rid of a snooping guard when he had had to. But for every wounded man, every corpse he saw, he kept asking himself if the Creed was worth the suffering.

_Nothing is true, everything is permitted, you are guilty._

Marcello was still discussing with Ferenc when somewhere in the camp was heard a screech that seemed to belong to some nocturnal bird of prey but it didn't.

"Barn owl!" Marcello jumped on the spot and looked around. It was the very cry of the barn owl, the signal Cecchino had made them learn to make them recognize his presence.

Why was Cecchino there? Something was bound to have gone wrong, the agreement was he wouldn't have come for them if not because of unexpected events.

Marcello had started inspecting the zone, looking for the source of the noise, until he got to the tent he and Andreas shared and immediately entered.

Andreas followed him.

"What happened?" Marcello started as soon as he saw Cecchino in a corner of the tent.

"We have found Salm" Cecchino whispered. "He was not in Vienna… but in Ratisbon, four days on horseback away from here. But… I think he has discovered something… Arturo was on his way back and he was reporting to Isabel…"

"You sent _Arturo_?" Marcello was visibly forcing himself to keep his voice down. "Salm saw his face and mine!"

"I had no choice, he was the only one able to stay in the shadows or leave a tail behind" Cecchino answered. "I hoped he could get rid of the tail… but someone, as it seems, has recognized his face when he met Isabel."

His voice tone was worried, like if he was up to announce bad news.

"Did they get my mother?" Andreas asked immediately.

"No, but we know they have broken into your quarters. The door of your room has been pried open and… well, Andreas, I'll be earnest" Cecchino resolved. "They had come for you… but they took your father instead."

* * *

><p><em>January 22, 2013, Rockport Headquarters<em>

Cleaning the floor wasn't exactly Shaun's favorite activity, but Beatrice had decided that, despite he had gotten past the flu, it would have been better if his chores would have not involved the kitchen for a while.

As he hoovered the basement, Shaun had come to the conclusion that he would have preferred staying in bed with a thermometer under his tongue and a wet rag on his forehead. He had not signed in to work as a _housemaid_.

"Who said you're working as a housemaid, excuse me?" Rebecca walked down the stairs and stepped exactly on the point Shaun had just hoovered.

"Who said _anything_?" Shaun replied, "accidentally" hitting one of Rebecca's feet with the vacuum cleaner.

"It's written all over your face, you know?" Rebecca turned and frowned at him. "You're even grumpier than usual. And don't try to deny it!"

"Grumpy? Have we come to this?" Shaun shut the vacuum cleaner down and dropped it to the ground. "You call being grumpy what's just normal _concern_? It's us against the world, Rebecca! They could come for us anytime, and they even got my f…"

"They got _Andreas's father_, Shaun, relax. It has nothing to do with your life."

"Well, who knows who got the idea to get me stuck in the Animus."

"_You_."

Shaun snorted and threw himself on one of the chairs.

"Now you're holding it against me? You sent me one more time in the memories of the most troublesome ancestor I have, and during his fucking teenage years in the bargain!"

"You sent me is a big word. You've been directed to the memory to which you could have had the highest synch. Maybe you won't admit it, but your troubles are not too different from Andreas's."

Shaun was up to reply, but memories that were not his own invaded his mind.

He was in his room, but he did not recognize it as his.

He clutched in his hands a dagger far too long for a child his age. But wasn't he an adult?

He was surrounded by darkness, his left arm hurt, and in front of him stood what looked like a ghost.

He was in a room full of wounded soldiers, and the stench of blood filled his nose.

He was in a tent with Marcello and Cecchino, and his father was in Templar hands. He had only one thought in his head: he had to get there, wreck the place and free the prisoner… but wasn't the prisoner Sarah Evans?

"That's right… _Sarah_!"

"… Shaun?" Rebecca asked, puzzled.

"The other day, at the assembly, you told me it's likely they put Berg to watch on her, or that they might move her to Rome as the security systems are replaced" Shaun said. "But you haven't considered another hypothesis… Abstergo has broadcasted Aveline de Grandpré's memories with that portable Animus console contraption… well it might not be only propaganda, in my opinion. When they got Clay, they already were on Desmond's trails, Rebecca."

For once, judging by her expression, Rebecca seemed to have understood.

"Do you think they want to kill her?"

Shaun nodded.

"It's obvious they won't do it until they aren't sure they got another descendant. Why do you think they attacked the children's commune five days ago? We're lucky Bill and Pauline saved the kids. They'll hold dear Sarah until she is the only one, but I don't think they'll keep her alive after they get a Subject 19. All the subjects apart from Desmond and Cross did not get out of Abstergo on their feet."

"So?"

"So they _never_ have to get Subject 19" Shaun resolved. "The consoles send data… the users with the highest synch level will doubtlessly be taken first… we have to protect them somehow, or at least warn them about the danger they're in. The consoles have also been devised to narrow the field to few people, if they give up playing, the Abstergo research would be slowed down a lot. We'd gain time. At that point, we'll only have to pray it's enough… and that Abstergo resign themselves to call an electricians' company while Sarah is still alive."

Rebecca nodded.

"I'll call Desmond and Jack" she announced. "If we have to accelerate, they'd better stay ready. If you feel like, help Amber with the database, Beatrice is in town for grocery shopping."

"By the way, what was Ayden's chore for today?" Shaun asked.

"Do the dishes, why?"

"He's the Erudito man in here. Someone has to warn him about the Aveline matter."

Before Shaun could somehow react, Rebecca planted a kiss on his cheek.

* * *

><p><em>August 11, 1532, Napoli, Benvenuto Cellini's lodging<em>

"The situation of the Viceroys of Napoli… _ecco_… uhm…" Benvenuto was trying to explain, but judging by the way he twisted his hands and chewed on his lower lip, he would not have gone too far. Alessio had not seen him so purple even during the worst binge.

"Pretty much they have been giving us troubles since they exist" Benvenuto spat out and laid both palms on the table. "Inquisition. Speculation. They suppressed an uprising for lack of food. Expelled the Jews. Some of them, judging by what our agents said, were Templars."

"One of which, Ramon de Cardona, ordered the killing of Alessio's father" Flavia intervened. "He had found out proofs of an incoming attack to the Pope, and sent two of his goons to kill him. They did not live long to tell the tale, as Filippo's associates assassinated them shortly after. The other, Charles de Lannoy, had a commanding position in the Kaiser's army… and my cousin Enrico got rid of him in the summer of 1527."

Seated at their same table, Iskender was attentively listening to them. The night before, Benvenuto, who had been rather wasted when he had come back to the workshop, almost had paid him no attention, but now he was definitely sober he was as tense as a bowstring.

It had only been thanks to Flavia and Alessio they had come to the agreement to help each other in the respective missions, and now Benvenuto was explaining their situation the best he could.

"And then there were… Hugo de Moncada… he fought in Cesare Borgia's army…"

"And Orazio Baglioni shot him dead in April 1528…" Flavia continued.

"Philibert of Chalon, prince of Orange… I had… um, hit during the Sack of Roma… before he was Viceroy… but I could not kill him…"

"And then Patroclo Aldobrandi took care of him in Gavinana." Flavia pointed out again. "Pompeo Colonna has been kind of better as ad interim governor, but now he's dead there's the risk of another tyrant. We cannot afford another Templar-supported viceroy, not now the situation in Firenze looks grim and Roma is still recovering from the sack of five years ago."

Iskender nodded.

"Do you know who could be the next?"

"Pietro Alvarez" Alessio intervened. "We have been here for a few months, we have done inquiries on him and his family, and we can say that no matter how much strict he can be, he wants the best for his city."

"The point is that someone else could always step forward" Benvenuto sighed and intervened. "Until Pietro is not elected, we cannot know who else will run for the seat."

"So you want to keep an eye on the city until the election and get rid of any Templar stepping forward?" Iskender resolved.

Benvenuto stuttered something that sounded like "_sì Messer Mentore signore_".

"Good" Iskender resolved. "Now, before I explain you the reason why I'm here, I have to warn you there's a story behind it. About twenty years ago, the Mamluks found a crate in the ruins of the Library of Alexandria. That crate contained what seemed two Memory Seals. Our numbers were insufficient to attack, so we asked for help to the Istanbul Brotherhood. They sent four Assassins… Ferenc Tolvaj… Paolo Simoni… Emiliana Santi… and Filippo Falcone."

"My father?" Alessio jumped to his feet. "That's why you were after me yesterday… I was wearing his cape!"

Flavia did not lose time in grabbing his shirt collar and forcing him to sit, and Alessio preferred not to complain. Probably, that was the missing piece of his story.

"Right, your father" Iskender grinned. "He was twenty-three when I met him. He was the youngest in his team, but also the most serious one. He had a certain talent for springing traps… or simply just for finding what he was looking for. He did not personally lay his hands on the seals, but he thought up a diversion to distract the soldiers, watched personally the girl who was examining them and… well, he saved my life when I was captured."

"So all of this has something to do with the seals?" Flavia immediately got to the point.

Iskender hinted at a grin.

"I've only known him by letters but one thing is for sure, Flavia… you really are your father's daughter."

Alessio had to hold back laughter when Flavia shrugged and blushed, but the face he pulled to stifle the laugh made Iskender grin, and when the Master Assassin commented that they made a nice couple he, too, felt his face getting hot.

"I got it, I have to grow a beard" he snorted when Flavia let slip a laugh.

"Now…" Iskender continued. "In March 1513, I got one last letter from Ezio Auditore. The girl… my daughter… had been killed when a wall had collapsed on her. But two weeks before… a friend of hers had drawn this."

Iskender pulled out of his shirt a crumpled sheet and handed it to Benvenuto.

"_Francesco Vecellio_ did this?"

He had his eyes wide open and he was quickly turning pale. Flavia snatched the sheet out of his hands and examined it quickly, then she stared at Alessio.

"It cannot be…" she said in a whisper.

"It cannot be what?" Alessio asked, even if he had a slight clue of what could be on that sheet.

"See for yourself" Flavia told him putting the piece of paper in his hands. It was a simple sketch, something Alessio could have made on his own. Mentore Vecellio's signature was visible in a corner.

A man, sitting on an unmade bed, had an arm around the shoulders of a young woman. In the woman's arms was a few days old baby.

The man had a cape on his shoulders, a cape with a falcon and a star embroidered on it.

_Is this really my family? Can they really be…? Mamma and Papà? And if they are…_

"The little one is me, _vero_?"

He looked up. They were staring at him, the three of them.

Then, Benvenuto started panting and talking gibberish, turning his look from Alessio to Iskender.

"Al—Al—tair… gra—grand—grandson… ap—appre—ntice… an—ces—tor… _cazzo_."

Before Alessio, Flavia, or Iskender could do something, he was out cold on the floor.

* * *

><p><em>January 22, 2013, Rockport Headquarters<em>

Desmond sat up and took a hand to his head. He still felt inside an unfamiliar angst. Could that have desynchronized him? Alessio Falcone surely had had quite the shock.

"Well… wow…" Amber commented from behind her laptop. "I guess Tommy will be able to fill in another piece of your family tree."

"Yeah." Desmond forced a grin and stood up. If he had gotten it right, Alessio Falcone was the son of Iskender's daughter. His _grandson_. One of _Altair_'s descendants.

He really could believe that _ante litteram_ fanboy Benvenuto had passed out that way. He had treated Alessio as a little brother for seven years out of pure goodness of heart, and then he found out that way the boy he had taken away from the streets was a descendant of no one but his idol!

"What happened?" Shaun looked up from his tablet.

"Alessio finally put the pieces together" Amber answered. "But as it seems it was much more than he dared to imagine. Altair is his ancestor on his mother's side."

"Oh… _is that all_?"

"Well, no shit" Rebecca commented from behind the monitor. "Desmond, are you OK?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe we'd better continue tomorrow. Now the real urgency is to free Sarah, trying to increase the synch for something like this would only make us lose time. See you at lunch…?"

"It depends on who's cooking" Desmond snorted. Amber shook her head and raised her hand.

"Sandwiches for everyone, right? If you tell me what you want into them…"

Shaun rolled his eyes and complained something about eating fast food every day lately, but then he snorted and asked for a tuna and sliced hard-boiled egg sandwich. After asking for a BLT, Desmond walked up the stairs until he reached his room, and picked up the book again, running frantically through the pages until he found what he was looking for.

Between two typed pages there was the copy of a sketch on a crumpled sheet. A man, a woman and a baby, and Francesco Vecellio's signature in a corner.

He turned another page. The story began again.

* * *

><p><em>If Benvenuto had blacked out and Alessio had turned to green, I was left speechless. Not only my conjectures had turned out to be correct, they even were much more than we could have ever imagined!<em>

_Yet there had been signs. Eagle Vision for a start. His visions of Juno as a small boy. His knowledge of Desmond! We should have expected it… Benvenuto should have expected it, as he took care of Alessio "in loco parentis"._

_Even if I doubt Alessio ever mentioned Desmond to Benvenuto. Not before Napoli, at least._

_(Desmond, if you're reading this, sorry if I'm using third person.)_

* * *

><p><em>August 11, 1532, Napoli, seafront near Castel dell'Ovo<em>

The midday sun was beating down and the air was hot and moist, and Flavia had not thought twice before getting out of the workshop in her usual tunic and trousers. People's attention could go to Hell: after Benvenuto had fainted, Alessio had been outside for an hour and he still did not seem to be willing to return, and if something was really the matter with him, he wouldn't have solved anything walking up and down in an unfamiliar city.

Luckily, guessing where could he have gone turned out to be quite easy: the first evening in Napoli, Alessio had been so fascinated by the sunset on the sea behind the old castle he had wanted to go back there several times.

At that time of the day, the streets of Napoli were deserted. It wasn't hard to find Alessio, sitting on a pier, his hands on his lap and his stare on the horizon.

"If it's Masyaf you're looking for, you should go to Bari" was the first reasonable thing Flavia felt like telling him, but she immediately regretted it. Alessio had a sort of start, and Flavia hastily said "No offence meant."

Alessio put his hands on the pier and turned his head.

"I know."

He sighed and looked down.

"It was me he was looking for. There's no other explanation."

Flavia sat next to him and put an arm around his shoulders.

"Do you really think he came here just because you're a golden boy or something like that?" she smiled to him. "He's _your grandfather_. Maybe he just wanted to see you. He just wanted to know how were you."

"And he waited for nineteen years?"

"Maybe he could only now."

Alessio sighed and rubbed his face with a sleeve.

"That's definitely the story of my life."

"You've met your grandfather. Not so many kids could call themselves as lucky as you are!" _Don't forget what happened to mine!_, Flavia had almost implied in her reply.

"Say that to Cosimo and he'll tell you how much he feels lucky" Alessio replied.

"Said the boy who can't stand him."

Alessio shrugged and sighed.

"Do you think Francesco knew?" he asked.

Flavia shook her head.

"He would have told you when he told you about your father. Or he would have told Benvenuto, at least."

"Sure… Benvenuto. Really, did you see the way he broke down?" Alessio replied. "By the way, is he alright? Did he wake up?"

"Your grandfather put him to bed, but he still was in the land of Nod when I left."

Alessio grimaced.

"I'm afraid, Flavia."

"Afraid of what?"

"Benvenuto took me in when I was no one. He is… he's a brother for me. I don't want things to change. I did want to know my past, but I didn't want… _this_. Not if Benvenuto will start acting in a different way with me. I want _old_ Benvenuto back. I want everything to come back as it was."

"You have to tell him, not me."

"Let's be honest. It will never be the same again." Alessio put his heels on the pier and laid his head on his knees. "What if Benvenuto blows the whistle? They'd all look at me like… like…"

"Just like the way they look at me" Flavia laid her head on his shoulder. Alessio had another start.

"_Cazzo, scusa, scusa…_" He lowered his legs and straightened his back. "I had forgotten…"

"_Appunto_, you forgot it. Yet I still remember the face you pulled when Marcello and I introduced ourselves. It's just a matter of time… even if Benvenuto spills the beans, sooner or later everyone will see you again as the person you always were. And at least for me nothing has changed. We're peers now, if I really have to put it this way."

She stood up and held a hand out.

"Let's go home, shall we?"

Alessio took her hand. Flavia could feel under her fingers his writer's bump, the punctured blisters where he had gotten burnt a week before, the calluses he had grown training with weapons and climbing, and the very dust of Napoli.

She had no doubt her hands were similar.

"Let's go."

Benvenuto was already awake when they got back to the workshop, he was sitting on the bed with a big lump on his head, and Iskender was asking him questions.

"Name?"

"Benvenuto."

"_Full_ name."

"Benvenuto di Mastro Giovanni Cellini da Firenze."

Iskender grinned.

"How old are you?"

"Thirty-tw… no, thirty-one. I'll be thirty-two in November."

"What day is today?"

"August the eleventh, fifteen-thirty-two _anno Domini_."

"Any brothers or sisters?"

"Two younger siblings. My brother is called Cec… Giovanfrancesco and he's thirty… my sister is called Liberata and she's twenty-eight. I had an older sister, but she died four years ago. And then there's Alessio."

Benvenuto seemed to remember something, had a start and looked around as he started panting.

"Stay calm. Stay calm." Iskender told him grabbing his wrists.

Alessio seemed to choose that very moment to cross the room, sit next to Benvenuto and squeeze him in a hug like a very small boy would have done.

"You two just seem to share this opinion, don't you?" Iskender commented. "Enough, _ibni_, let him breathe."

Alessio let go of Benvenuto and rubbed his feet on the floor.

"Are you all right?" he mumbled.

"He hit his head, but he doesn't seem to have gotten hurt badly" Iskender intervened. "If he doesn't throw up or have a nosebleed, he'll recover quickly. For now, though, he'd better not to move from here."

"Well, someone will have to tell Don Pietro that Benvenuto got hurt" Flavia announced. "I'll be right back."

She got out of the bedroom and crossed the workshop, but as soon as she opened the door she found outside a well-built boy, probably in his late teens, with chestnut hair and finely embroidered clothes.

"Are you looking for someone?" was the first thing Flavia felt like saying.

"You're Flavia Auditore, aren't you?" the boy went straight to the point.

Flavia nodded. How could that boy know her name?

"Eleonora sent me" the boy quickly explained. "Nice to meet you, by the way… I'm Garçia Alvarez."

"You're her brother, right?" Flavia found the courage to say. "Why isn't she with you?"

"She smacked Isabella and our father grounded her" Garçia shrugged. "As far as I've understood, Isabella has started gossiping around that Eleonora has fallen in love with a bum. Obviously Eleonora flared up. Sometimes I really don't know how the seven of us could survive to each other. Do you have any siblings?"

"Just one brother, and he's almost eighteen" Flavia hinted at a grin. "But we lived in the countryside, and it was just the two of us, so either we got along or we would have had no one else to play with."

"I'm almost eighteen too" Garçia grinned in return. "By the way, early this morning, before Eleonora was grounded, she and I found a dagger in our front door. She's sure you can find out something about it, don't ask me how and why, she must have a high esteem of you if she really thinks so… by the way… it's in these rags."

He put a bundle of cloth in her hands and turned his heels.

"Wait!"

"_Sí_?"

"If you don't see Benvenuto… he only hit his head!"

* * *

><p><em>What Eleonora and Garçia had found was only a simple dagger, but we had in our ranks a master craftsman like Benvenuto. Completely oblivious to the Altair matter once he had the dagger in his hands, he immediately grabbed a sheet and a piece of coal and copied on the sheet all the details of the handle and the blade, then he started examining the dagger with a lens and taking a hard look.<em>

_Alessio and I didn't make him aware of it not to distract him, but for a while, Iskender stared at him, visibly interested._

* * *

><p>"This is a threat for sure… and from a powerful man too… the knife of a poor Neapolitan devil would have had a much simpler handle, even damaged maybe… or a less sharp blade, this could cut cloth" Benvenuto resolved laying the dagger down on the table.<p>

"It wouldn't be worth the hassle for a poor devil" Alessio pointed out. "In streets like these, for a poor devil even a blunt knife would make a difference between life and death."

"Now, every arms dealer has his style" Benvenuto hinted at a grin. "Every weapon carries the signature of the craft master that made it, and I don't mean his name. I'll be sending the patterns to Mentore Vecellio, but I've already seen something like this around."

"Really? Where?" Iskender asked.

"A Milanese called Pompeo De' Capitaneis makes something similar. By the way, he has always hated me like poison, even if he's just a pain in my ass for now, but if he's really working with or for the Templars, I guess I'll have to be dogging on his footsteps as soon as I get back to Roma."

Now he seemed busy in his trade, Benvenuto seemed to have completely forgotten who was in front of him. His focus was completely on the weapon and on its possible origin.

"And I also think I've seen similar weapons on the belt of a distant cousin of Duca Alessandro" Benvenuto added scratching at his beard. "Lorenzino, I think he's called."

"Cosimo's shithead cousin?" Alessio immediately commented.

"One moment, Alessio!" Flavia intervened. "Remember what Checco said? The boy who paid him was called Lorenzo!"

"So what? Lorenzino is as old as Marcello! He was fifteen when we wiped Checco away… what could a fifteen-year-old do?"

"Save a life, for a start. Or take one" Iskender intervened. "Your father was fifteen when he saved Francesco Vecellio from an arson."

"And Marcello was twelve when he assassinated Frundsberg" Benvenuto resolved. "Flavia is right, he could be. We'll have to keep an eye on him too. At such an age, it's unlikely he's high in the ranks, if he really is with them. So he must have someone behind… and probably, this someone is moving another puppet here, towards Napoli."

"So… you mean it's so much the better if we leave Pietro Alvarez here? He doesn't look like a saint" Alessio resolved.

"He is no saint" Benvenuto replied. "But if the Templars are really threatening him now…" he raised the dagger in a meaningful gesture. "… it means he's strong enough to keep them at bay. We have had too many times allies of the Cross in the Regno di Napoli. Now we have the chance to have someone opposed, if not even feared, by the Templars."

He stuck with a firm gesture the knife in a fissure between two boards of the table.

"Pietro Alvarez can have a heavy hand. But he also has something the Templars don't have… he's willing to come to terms with his subordinates. And that, Alessio, is all the difference in the world."

* * *

><p><em>As long as Benvenuto remained focused on the dagger, he seemed to have completely forgotten what had happened not even an hour before, but once he had trusted a pigeon with the patterns and a letter, he went back to his room and laid down on his bed, exploiting the excuse of the hit on the head to stay alone.<em>

_He had not counted Alessio, though._

* * *

><p>"Hey, Benvenuto?"<p>

The person concerned restricted himself to a grunt. _Great… just in case you haven't noticed, Benvenuto, the one in deep shit is me!_

"Benvenuto, _insomma_!" Alessio repeated after counting to twenty.

"What's up?" Benvenuto mumbled.

"I only wanted to know if you were fine" Alessio raised his shoulders, grinned and approached his teacher's bed.

"I would believe it…" Benvenuto sat up. "If I didn't know you well."

"_Va bene_, I just wanted to talk" Alessio sat next to Benvenuto. "Have you met your grandparents?"

"Just one, the other three died before I was born." Benvenuto started scratching on his beard. "My father's father was called Andrea, and he had been a mason in his youth. When I was three I got him scared to death…"

"Oh, come on!" Alessio chuckled, expecting the umpteenth Benvenuto Brag.

"No, I'm serious! Some workers had changed the spout of a fountain near my place, and I was playing around there. At a point, a vermin got out of the discarded spout, and I captured it and brought it to my grandfather to show him how good had I been. So I started running towards him shouting "_Nonno_, look, I've caught a crab!" but I really had no clue about the huge mistake I had made."

"Not a crab, right? So what was that?" Alessio asked holding back laughter.

"A scorpion" Benvenuto smirked and shook his head. "A big, poisonous scorpion."

"And you even say you're serious!" Alessio gave him a playful shove. "Go fly a kite, man!"

"No, seriously, it was a scorpion! It was so big its tail and claws got out of my hand!"

"And it didn't hurt you!"

"My father cut off its tail just in time, you know."

"Do you really expect me to believe it? After all the times you exaggerated the facts or told me hogwash, even if it was completely true it's quite unlikely!"

Benvenuto looked down and squeezed the sheets.

"_Va bene_" he said. "I got it. I'm a fibber, an irresponsible and I freak out for nothing. As soon as we get back to Firenze, I'll ask Francesco to find you another teacher, if you don't want to go with your old man."

"Another teacher?"

Benvenuto nodded, without looking at him.

"I'm just a restraint to you. I never was able to teach you how to use a sword properly. Not to mention all the times I ended up in trouble or I had to leave you alone."

"Alone _with Mentore Francesco_, need I say more?"

"Or all the times you had to save my ass when I got drunk."

"I'd do it a million more times."

"You always wanted to find your family, Alessio. You real family. Now your grandfather is over there…"

Alessio sighed and stood up.

"Look at me, Benvenuto. You said it right. Now my grandfather is over there… _only now_. Who was by my side, in Venezia, in 1525, when my friends were leaving and I had nowhere to go? That freezing cold winter, who had to put up with a cardinal's complaint because he had lost two days of work to stay with me while I had the flu? When I was in front of the Duke of Bourbon with Flavia and Marcello, who shot a bullet through that Templar's head? On whose shoulder I cried three years ago? It was always you. And now, I came to you."

Benvenuto raised his head, but he said nothing.

"It's true, I think you're absent-minded, childish and irresponsible, I won't deny it" Alessio continued. "But you're not absent-minded when you're on duty, you demonstrated it just moments ago. Surely you're not childish when my well-being is involved. And you may be irresponsible when you're around courtesans, but you're responsible enough to have never broken a tenet, not even the third one. You'll never be as irresponsible as Altair was in his youth, and this is something you should be proud of."

"What a shame. At least I could have been equal to him in something" Benvenuto hinted at a joke.

"And your knowledge of weapons?" Alessio replied. "You amazed my grandfather! I say, have you seen him? He was staring at you and hanging off your words! You are a great Assassin, Benvenuto. And a great person too. I could never, _ever_ ask for a better master."

Finally, Benvenuto looked in his eyes.

"Are you serious? Or are you only telling me what I want to hear?"

"What other confirmation do you need? You were there when nobody else would have been. Well, apart from Flavia and Marcello. You took me from the streets without even asking who I was. Without me even knowing who I was. And now you know… well I've heard somewhere that good deeds always get paid back somehow… and that's what you got."

"I doubt there's really someone pulling the strings of this world" Benvenuto stood up and pulled a face. "Unless you want to prove the friars right."

Alessio sighed and rubbed a hand on his arm.

"I only want everything to come back as it was" he resolved. "It's still me. I haven't changed. I've always been who I am. Can you promise me nothing will change?"

Benvenuto grimaced.

"… please?" Alessio added, then cursed himself for such a childish behavior. Then Benvenuto smiled.

"_Va bene_. You have my word."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Ecco = here<strong>_

_**Sì Messer Mentore signore = yes mister Mentor sir (yeah right Benny is talking gibberish)**_

_**Vero? = aren't I? (it's a neutral question tag actually)**_

_**Cazzo, scusa, scusa = shit, I'm sorry, I'm sorry**_

_**Appunto = that's the point**_

_**Insomma = it may mean several things, like "hey!" or "really", but in this case it's a very chic way to say "what the fu…"**_

_**Va bene = OK**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>So yeah, TA-DA! That was the Great Revelation of the Story! I had put hints actually. In the previous chapters Alessio had broken his left ring finger after he had been attacked by street urchins, the whole feather-in-the-nose fact, the arm jokes to Arturo, the fact he considered the Philosopher's Stone a fib – just like Altair initially considered the Apple, and many more hints I dropped, last but not the least Benvenuto's obsession with Altair and Iskender calling Alessio "ibni"… <strong>__**my son**__**.**_

_**At some points I somehow expected someone would have guessed something. I pointed it out to the godmothers of the story, Snowcomet really had to be helped, and Aeon Hawk was all like "WAA! NO WAY! THAT'S SO COOL!" (Yup, I'm quoting her!)**_

_**But apart from them, no one else could get it. Such a shame.**_

_**And you? What do you think?**_


	26. An itchy matter

_**No better day for an update than today!**_

_**In Italy, today, April 25**__**th**__**, is a national holiday, the anniversary of the liberation of the biggest Italian cities from the Nazi army (which, if you remember what Clay said, were Templars). In brief Liberation Day. And what's more, this is Chapter 25!**_

_**The usual thanks to Snowcomet, who gave me a few tips about urticaria, LadyVe who has the patience to keep translating Andreas's mother tongue outbursts, pakhnokh for the Arabic (yeah I know it's only a word, but…) and the new entry Luzerrante, who translated Spanish in exchange for a bit of English practice (check out her comics on dA!).**_

* * *

><p><em>Despite not knowing the matter as it was, Eleonora and Garçia Alvarez were clever enough to have sorted out something from what was happening. At least they had gotten it right guessing about a "war between secret societies", one of which wanted to expand over the world…<em>

* * *

><p>Chapter 25<p>

An itchy matter

_August 13, 1532, Napoli, Alvarez's palazzo_

"… just like the tentacles of an octopus, right?" Garçia resolved fiddling with his shirt collar. "And you're part of another secret society which tries to hinder them."

Flavia would have answered, but a gurgle coming from Garçia's stomach made the other occupants of the room start laughing.

"Ignore him… whenever he says octopus he imagines a stewed one in his plate" Eleonora chuckled. Garçia threw her a dirty look.

Alessio laughed again, and Flavia hastily silenced him with a nudge. The last thing they needed was that such a discussion was made ridiculous by some stewed octopus.

"_Comunque sì_, that is the point" Flavia resolved. "And the same people killed two of my uncles, my grandfather and Alessio's father. Hence, they're not people to be trifled with. Probably we already have a lead, but…"

"Wait, if they're the same men, why do you say you only have a lead?" Garçia intervened.

"The same rabble, not the same men" Alessio explained. "The ones who attacked our families have died long ago, but they have passed the torch."

A young girl, the same who Flavia had seen dragging Eleonora away the first day in Napoli, entered the room and started protesting. Garçia rolled his eyes.

"_¡Son unos zoquetes!. Él es un artista, ella es una letrada y ambos pertenecen a buenas familias. Ahora, por favor marchesé, aquí estamos hablando de asuntos serios._"

The girl pouted, but she immediately left the room stomping her feet. Eleonora sighed in relief and whispered a "gracias" to her older brother.

"What a _rompicoglioni_…" Alessio commented looking at the door that the girl had just crossed. "What did she say?"

"Oh, nothing" Garçia shook his head. "Only that Eleonora and I aren't supposed to associate with oafs. I really would like to see her, traveling on a ship without the people she calls oafs… using the helm or the sails. The world needs everybody, no matter who we are."

"I haven't met many boys like you thinking the same way" Alessio commented, badly hiding a surprised tone.

"You've never been on a ship then" Garçia smirked. "I learned that over there. There was an old Sicilian sailor who kept showing me his own hand and telling that to pull the oar, the five fingers have to work together."

"By the way" Eleonora intervened. "Have you discovered something about that dagger?"

"Benvenuto has theories on who might have built it, but the thing we ain't too sure of is who paid the craftsman" Alessio said. "One thing is for sure: if Pompeo de' Capitaneis built that, his customer doesn't live here."

"And who was that guy with a grizzled beard always going back and forth in front of the workshop?" Eleonora asked again. "I don't know… he looks strange. Like if he wants to keep an eye on you…"

Flavia looked in Alessio's eyes and nodded to him. Any lie they could have told wouldn't have lasted long, and part of the truth, even most of it, wouldn't have compromised anything, not even the Brotherhood.

"Alessio's grandfather, you mean?" Flavia purposely confirmed Eleonora's suspicions.

"Your grandfather?" Eleonora asked Alessio. "I'm sorry."

"_Caramba_" Garçia had lifted an eyebrow. "Your grandfather is still alive? _You lucky arse_!"

"It depends on the grandfather, I think. A friend of Flavia's brother's has both his maternal grandparents and he _just can't stand them_. I guess he would happily give his grandfather for his father." Alessio replied in a flat tone.

"There's always a poisonous relative then" Eleonora grinned.

Somewhere outside the window, the bells of a church struck eight.

"Now excuse me…" Garçia stood up and headed out of the room. "I have an apprenticeship too. Eleonora, see you tonight. Alessio, Flavia, goodbye."

"Apprenticeship? _Him_?" Alessio commented after the door was closed. "What does he do?"

"He's in Admiral Doria's fleet. Naval officer. He always comes home in a sweat" Eleonora answered. "In some years he should command his own ship, if he can make a name for himself."

"That's saying something!" Alessio smirked. "He's helpful for a start. I've known kids in lower ranks who would ask for a valet to wipe the sweat off their forehead!"

"I could give you names" Eleonora commented rolling her eyes.

"Your sis, right?" Alessio frowned. "She may be a spoilt brat, by the way, but you can't let her shit out on your head, you know?"

"What?" Eleonora asked, maybe staggered by Alessio's coarse language.

"He's right" Flavia started explaining the matter in a cleaner way. "Isabella may be your older sister, but the three years she's older than you don't mean you have to bow down and give her the upper hand."

"But…"

"No buts. You think she's silly, don't you?"

Eleonora pulled a face.

"I don't think it… she is."

"Stand up to her, then! You're not her!"

"But if…" Eleonora was showing discomfort. "If I do something… to make her pay…"

"Don't do it then" Flavia immediately understood where Eleonora wanted to get. "Shout at her, smack her, if your parents don't think it's seemly, don't let them see you doing it. But you have to keep your head high. You have to stand up to people, or you'll go nowhere."

"You know, it's not so hard. It's just three words" Alessio added. "You. Are. Wrong."

Flavia would have added something else, but someone in the streets outside gave a two-tone whistle.

"And that's my grandfather" Alessio snorted. "We'd better go, he's bound to have news or chores for us."

* * *

><p><em>As Benvenuto waited for the results of the inspection of the dagger, Iskender had rolled up his sleeves in other ways and kept on watching the streets. Whoever was threatening Pietro Alvarez, anyway, exploited the moments in which he thought we weren't looking.<em>

_At the beginning, Garçia and Eleonora intercepted the threats before their father could notice, but Iskender immediately arranged a hideout to watch the entrance to the palazzo. As long as it was only a nuisance that Eleonora could have passed me for Benvenuto or Iskender to examine it, she could take care of it on her own. But if they only had started breaking windowpanes, Pietro would have gone on alert._

_As it seemed, by the way, the main door of Alvarez's palazzo had not been the only thing Iskender had been spying on, because he started taking him aside twice a day, sticking a poker in his hands and ordering him to defend himself._

* * *

><p><em>August 15, 1532, Napoli<em>

Alessio lifted his improvised weapon just in time to prevent the poker in Iskender's hands from hitting his shoulder. He had already taken too many hits for a single day, and he suspected he would have found himself with a lot of blue spots on his arms, chest and legs by the evening.

What he knew about sword fight was more instinct than anything else, but what the elder Master Assassin was trying to teach him was technique.

Alessio really did not understand how he could use moves so accurate at that speed, and how could a person put his trust in them to save his own skin.

Flavia and Marcello probably would have begged to differ, but Flavia had taken classes from Mentore Vecellio, and Marcello from no one but Giovanni dalle Bande Nere. While they learned how to use a sword, Benvenuto had stuck a quill in Alessio's hand and made him fill pages of ABCs.

_Right, but also being literate can make a difference…_

A blow of the poker, painful like very few else, struck his left side.

"Focus, _ibni_, if it was an enemy you'd be fatally wounded!"

Iskender stopped for a moment, but he immediately put his defenses up. Alessio took a hand to his hurting side and let slip a groan.

He would have asked to stop, or complained about the pain he felt everywhere, but he knew that the Mentor of Egypt, at least after Flavia had flattened Alessio during a spar the previous day, wouldn't have listened to reason.

"Are you alright?"

Iskender had lowered the poker and was looking at him in a concerned way. Alessio hastily nodded. Iskender grimaced.

"All right… where does it hurt?"

This question was harder to get rid of. He would have noticed.

"Everywhere" Alessio sighed.

Iskender sighed in turn and gestured him to put the poker away. "Then it's more than enough for today."

"I'll never learn" Alessio mumbled dropping himself on the nearest bench.

"Your mother said the same when she handled a sword for the first time" Iskender sat next to him. "But when she mistook your father with a Templar, she knocked him down before he could manage to explain."

"Well I took after Papà as it seems" Alessio smirked. "He was flattened by his girlfriend too."

A thought made its way through his mind.

"What was she like? My mother, I mean."

Iskender grinned.

"You already have seen something in that sketch, I think" He seemed kind of in a discomfort, despite trying not to show it. "You look like her a lot. You have her same profile and her same eyes, at least for the color."

Alessio made a gesture of eagerness.

"Then what?"

"She would have climbed the ranks in half the time had not she been so absent-minded. Every now and then someone stumbled on a crate of weapons she left in the middle of a room. She was skilled, of course, but only when she wanted to. At the slightest hint of a failure, she gave up."

Iskender shook his head.

"And until the very last… she had the bad habit of drawing the sword before asking the name. It took me a lifetime to teach her not to do it, and just when she had learned it, the moment she gave to a stranger was enough for him, a guard, to get me into jail. It took your father to get me out, but that's a story you already know. The fact is that recklessness is our family flaw ever since Altair and his father."

Alessio chuckled. Since he could ever remember hearing Altair's name, he had heard nothing more than the legends of his achievements. No one had particularly emphasized that flaw, but now that Iskender even made irony out of it, it was easier to imagine that piece of legend Altair had been as what he really was: a bloody _human being_.

"Doesn't it seem strange to you?" Alessio asked.

"What?" Iskender looked in his eyes.

"Flavia… and I… I mean, more she than I, we have the blood of two legends… and now we're even together…"

"Strange?" Iskender smirked. "I wouldn't say so. You're kids, you're young and you love each other. It's the most normal thing in the world."

"Don't you think there could be something in the middle? Like… fate?" Alessio tilted his head and pulled a face.

"_Fate_! Seriously, _ibni_, do you really think there's someone moving the pieces like in a chess game?"

"I don't know, it's just… things never really happen totally by chance. Benvenuto was promoted to Master Assassin just when I needed the most a teacher. Ezio Auditore knew my parents. He even knew me in the bargain, he must have seen me if… and I met Giovanni dalle Bande Nere when I was a toddler, and he was Marcello's teacher before he got killed by a cannon, and now Benvenuto's brother is teaching Marcello!"

"Things never happen by chance. Just, the deeds of a man always influence the others, and growing up in the Brotherhood is like swimming in a little pond. Big fish are bound to meet, sooner or later."

"A big fish? _Me_?"

"How else could you explain you have two hidden blades when you're still nineteen?"

"That's another story" Alessio shrugged. "In Firenze, Duca Alessandro's men confiscate weapons. Hidden blades are the only thing that actually can pass under the guards' noses."

"What does Benvenuto's brother do? Is he a weapon expert too?"

"No, he's an officer. He commands a small troop in Venezia. They sent him to Germany to get rid of a dangerous Templar."

"Big fish" Iskender smirked.

"Marcello is no man to be trifled with either" Alessio smirked in turn. "You should have seen him when Flavia was kidnapped. And he was a squirt when it happened, he had hardly broken his voice. Yet when we found the assholes who had gotten her and freed her, Marcello only had to fire once with his harquebus to cripple one of the Templars!"

Iskender stared at him.

"You say "we found". You were with him, right?"

Alessio made a gesture, like if he was chasing away a fly.

"Naaa. I already was fourteen. I was there not to leave him alone."

If Flavia had been near him, Alessio was more than sure, she would have shouted "you liar!" even before he had finished speaking.

"Would you like to tell me how did it go?" Iskender had put a hand on his shoulder.

"Well, it happened five years ago. We were in an old villa in a small town not too far from Firenze… there was an army coming, we knew there were Templars in their midst, and all the Assassins in the zone had taken shelter in this old sort of castle…"

* * *

><p><em>A pair of days later, arrived the confirmation from Paolo Simoni: that weapon had been crafted by Pompeo de' Capitaneis indeed. As if that was not enough, in very little time we got another letter, from Liberata, who confirmed that Lorenzino de'Medici, better known as Lorenzaccio, used to carry similar daggers on his belt.<em>

_And no one in Firenze had seen him in days._

* * *

><p><em>January 24, 2013, Rockport Headquarters<em>

Desmond poured more detergent in the toilet and flushed it. Apart from some rare Animus sessions and the accurate analysis of Flavia's book, his duties as a Watchman were restricted to cleaning, cooking, or anything that implied keeping things going.

The thing did not bother him too much: after all the time he had spent in the Animus, doing things way too normal and apparently boring was almost a relief, and after the precarious sanitary conditions of Monteriggioni and Turin he had sworn up and down he would have done everything possible to find himself as late as he could without a proper shower or with a bare bucket to do his business.

If that really meant cleaning the pot… he was OK with it.

"Hey, Desmond?"

Amber Michel entered the room, holding a bucket in a hand and a brush in another. Her flashy orange hoodie, as usual, almost burnt Desmond's eyes.

"I had seen your sweater on your bed, and I feared something had happened to you. I mean, that thing is your Linus blanket!" Amber joked laying the bucket down on the ground.

"Oh, look who's talking" Desmond smirked looking up from the WC. Amber snorted, rolled up her sleeves and started scrubbing the floor of the shower stall.

"Shaun is acting funny, have you noticed?" she asked Desmond.

"What do you mean? Grumpier than usual?" Desmond started as he cleaned the toilet seat.

"No, I mean… he's more determined, yeah, but… grumpier too, that's right. He acts strange around Rebecca, and murmurs strategies to himself. He's not the person I used to know before getting here" Amber explained pouring limescale remover on the shower head. "Good old Shaun wouldn't have thought twice before rolling up his sleeves. He would have acted as a Trojan Horse in the Abstergo compounds if that only meant being helpful."

"You knew him _before_?" Desmond pulled a face.

"Yeah, he was the assistant of my modern history teacher. He had seen I was interested in conspiracy theories, and I was sure just like him that Bloody Mary had not died because of a cancer. In brief, I was about twenty when Shaun was gone. Obviously the first thing I did, such the genius I am, was to denounce his disappearance on the same sections of Wikileaks he used to roam. Jack and Clay were patrolling the site, waiting for someone to do what I did, they found my account before the Templars and explained me everything. At that point, I preferred giving my name for the Brotherhood instead of spending a lifetime into hiding or keeping my head down. And when I found out I had Giovanni Borgia among my ancestors, the Watchmen welcomed me with open arms."

Desmond looked up and chuckled.

"Seriously. Open arms. With people like Rodrigo and Lucrezia Borgia in your family tree?"

Amber did not turn a hair, and gave a slight cough. Something that sounded terribly like "Haytham – Haytham". Desmond lowered his head and gritted his teeth.

"Point" he said standing up and rinsing his sponge in the sink.

"By the way, Shaun may have been my teacher, but I think he needs a lesson now" Amber said pulling something out of a pocket and laying it on the lid of the WC that Desmond had just finished cleaning.

"Fat chance" Desmond mumbled as Amber restarted fiddling with the shower head. "Wait, what are you doing?"

Amber grabbed the object she had taken out of her pocket and unwrapped it.

"Stock cube" she said showing it to Desmond and sticking it in the shower head. "Just tell Matt and the other boys to avoid having a shower in here."

"We have it on our own floor. Here on the ground floor, apart from the pot, the restroom is only used by Rebecca and Shaun… and Rebecca had a shower this morning, so she won't use it so soon. But I really hope Rebecca won't think about having a shower, she would never forgive you if that bouillon cube is what I think it is."

"I think it's what you think" Amber resolved putting the loaded shower head back to its place. "That is the point, Des. I really want to see how unfriendly Shaun will be after Rebecca won't stay in his same room for the chicken broth smell."

* * *

><p><em>August 15, 1532<em>

_We are in Ratisbon. Ferenc has come with us, and we have been joined by Arturo and the remainder of the team. We passed off as mercenaries again – disguising Andreas has been quite hard – and we got quarters. At the moment, the army is still stationed. I don't know when they will strike. We don't even know when they'll move, or if they'll do it._

_Andreas and I often walk around the camp, trying to look for fishy guys. I would have never thought I would say it, but I wish I knew German as well as he does._

* * *

><p>Marcello folded his arms and faked a laid-back attitude. The place was swarming with soldiers, and too many of them shone in red for his sixth. According to what Arturo had said, Salm and his men were hiding in the basement of one of the main buildings, but those barracks were too heavily guarded to approach them without raising the alert.<p>

Andreas had even proposed to drug the guards, but Marcello was kind of unwilling to do it: they only could see the guards at the main entrance, and it was more than likely there were many more inside.

The Count of Salm had done things right.

At the slightest alert, there was the possibility Andreas van Wesel senior could be killed. To Marcello it was way too similar to an old story his father had told him about Generale D'Alviano's wife. Just, it was the husband of an Assassin they had taken now, he did not speak German and he was way too young to pretend to be a patrolling officer.

"I wish my father was here" he sighed hanging his head down as he and Andreas sat on a bench. "He'd know what to do."

Andreas stayed in silence and put a hand on his shoulder, then he snorted.

"My mother would have never done it. Pick on who has nothing to do with it. It's… it's revolting!" he snapped with a grimace.

"First tenet of the Creed, stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent" Marcello mumbled. "Obviously our dear friends don't give a damn. Then again my zio Pietro was thirteen when he was murdered."

Andreas looked even more grim, if possible.

"Was he an Apprentice?" he asked.

Marcello shook his head.

"Not even my father had started, and he was our age at the time."

"_Klootzakken!_" Andreas snarled. "How can… how can they…?"

"We're talking about the same people who started the arson in Paris, remember?" Marcello pointed out. It was almost ironic that Andreas had remembered the victims and not the brutality of the slaughterers when they had been in Vienna, but now his family was involved in the war, he was so determined to make them pay.

"We'll get your father out, Andreas. We'll find a way."

Andreas stared at his feet.

"Sure, us. Marcello, I know those soldiers. I've helped the surgeons behind the lines in the last years… well the very Devil wouldn't scare them off, I think."

Marcello focused on the road again. Those were the moments in which he wished he had trained more his Eagle Vision so he could detect a target's path. That would have allowed him to waste less time waiting. Among the many red shapes he had learned to recognize as a child, he started spotting a glint of gold.

"Ssh! I think I got one!"

Andreas attempted to stand up, but Marcello stepped on his foot to make him stay still.

"Stay still and listen" he whispered. "Here you're the one who knows German. I've seen them, now you have to eavesdrop. If there's someone on whom your father's life depends now, it's you."

They followed the soldier pretending to be very laid-back. At a point, Marcello took out a bag of roasted chickpeas and started munching on them, and gestured to Andreas to lean against a wall. Another soldier was approaching. Andreas took a handful of chickpeas and started chewing one, even if he didn't seem to like it a lot.

The soldiers moved. Marcello and Andreas followed them, without stopping sharing the chickpeas. If Andreas was the one who had to focus and listen, Marcello was busy with keeping the disguise.

The two soldiers were animatedly talking, and even if Marcello did not understand anything of what they were saying, he could understand they were extremely worried. At a point, they said a name, or what seemed a name, at least, and Andreas opened his eyes wide and pulled a face.

"_En wie is die zogenaamde "Grote Duivel"_?" Marcello heard him grumble.

He felt the itch to ask Andreas what had he found out, but he held himself back. He could not risk breaking their cover for mere curiosity.

The soldiers had restarted talking, but their tone of voice had changed. Andreas sighed and looked at Marcello.

"Do you think dinner is ready?"

It was the signal they had set for the return. Andreas had heard enough. With the same laid-back attitude with which they had followed the soldiers, they left the streets and reached their quarters.

"Messer Cellini!" Andreas announced once they were in. "There are soldiers in town… and as it seems their leader could scare off the Germans!"

"How many more times do I have to tell you not to call me Messere?" Cecchino snorted and shook his head. The team was sitting around a table, discussing about possible strategies.

"Uhm…" Andreas ran a hand through his hair and folded his arms.

"Go on, speak" Cecchino resolved. "Who would these blokes be?"

"They did not say any name" Andreas said. "But whoever they are, they must be damn strong, because they were pretty worried. They were talking about it as if they were a fox in a henhouse. The point is, they arrived only recently. As it seems they're even allies of the Brotherhood, they got rid of some Templars some years ago, big fish, they quite made a difference."

"I have a bad feeling about this" Arturo mumbled. "Did they really say no names?"

"They did talk about a Great Devil, but…"

"_E buonanotte al secchio_" Arturo resolved with a snort. "The Great Devil died six years ago."

Andreas blanched and seemed on the point of dropping.

"But… _what do you mean_… he's dead?"

Marcello sighed and put a hand on Andreas's shoulder.

"He was my teacher… he was Giovanni."

Without any warning, Andreas leaned on Marcello and started weeping. For a moment, he could have hoped there was someone who could have made the Germans run like mice in front of a cat. Now the hope of seeing his father again had collapsed like a house of cards, he was going to cave in too.

It could not end that way. Marcello had seen too many similar scenes without being able to do anything to help. He had lost his own father, and he had seen Cosimo de'Medici, Jacques Chaput and the seven Machiavelli kids lose theirs.

"Andreas… stay calm. We'll find a way. You won't solve anything if you start crying."

"If only the Capitano was here, though…" Cecchino grumbled. "He'd _really_ make them leg it with a single battle cry!"

To better strengthen what he meant, he gave off an impressive imitation of Vanni's battle cry. Andreas stopped crying and hinted at a grin.

"Did that really make you laugh, Andreas?" Cecchino grinned, too. "Shall I do it again?"

Andreas dried up his tears, but he didn't say anything.

"Go on patrol again, tomorrow" Ferenc resolved. "If they really have another Achilles heel, finding that will be enough."

"My father used to tell me that once, in Roma, in a similar situation, they pretended to be French soldiers to free Generale D'Alviano's wife" Marcello intervened. "But I'm not my father for sure, I can't pass myself off as a German officer, and I don't speak German."

"We don't have the Mentor and we don't have the Capitano" Ferenc resolved. "But here there's us all. Let's try to remember it. We do not have to step in their shoes."

_In their shoes_?

Of course!

"Cecchino, could you fight with a full condottiero's armor?" Marcello intervened.

Cecchino nodded.

"What kind of question is that?"

"And with a sword like mine?"

"Marcello, could you explain yourself better?"

"_If I lent you my sword, would you be able to use it?_" Marcello resolved clearly pronouncing every single word.

Cecchino's jaw dropped.

"Marcello, you don't let _anyone_ touch that sword."

"What are you thinking of?" Arturo intervened getting close to him.

"Arturo, we can't pretend to be German soldiers, _giusto_?" Marcello asked with a smirk. "But we can _be_ the Bande Nere one more time."

"Well you forget something. We're. Without. A leader. And _they_ know it!"

"What if we made them believe Vanni's ghost is back? We'd only need someone with his same build, armed to the teeth, even with his weapons maybe!"

"And would that be _Cecchino_?" asked Sergio di Gaspare, one of the soldiers who had left with them.

"Why not, really?" Marcello paced back and forth in the room. "He has his same build, his face won't be seen under the helm, he can reproduce in a more than acceptable way his battle cry, _e_ _per la miseria_, he has tried to imitate him in any way in his whole lifetime!"

"Provided that soldiers believe in ghosts" Ferenc mumbled.

"That's not a problem" said Andreas, who had almost recovered his good mood. "No one of them, really no one, would get close to a graveyard at night. They think the spirits of the dead are summoned by witches for a Sabbath or shit like that. If we give them a hint there could be ghosts, they'll buy it. Oh, and if I have to suggest, we'd better find some chains, they'd convey better the hint."

"I'd be much more concerned about the _actor_" Sergio resolved pointing behind his back.

"Why?" Cecchino stepped forward, badly hiding the tense tone in his voice. "Do you think I can't do it?"

"No, I'm thinking at what happened every time you asked the Capitano to join our ranks" Sergio replied.

Cecchino bit his lip.

"Well at least I never fainted like my brother would have done." He was trying to keep his usual cheek, but Marcello noticed he had a hand on the back of his neck.

"I think he has an itch" Andreas murmured and pulled a face.

"What? I don't!" Cecchino snapped, even if his very hand gave him away.

Sergio smirked.

"Marcello, do you remember when I mentioned you all the times Giovanfrancesco here implored to join the Bande?"

"Don't call me Giovanfrancesco!" Cecchino replied without stopping scratching himself.

"Every time he was in front of the Capitano and asked him to be admitted, he acted just like this, scratching like a flea-bitten mutt!"

"I don't have fleas" Cecchino panted, blushing and scratching harder. "We've been for days in the same conditions, Sergio, if I had fleas you would too!"

Arturo stood up.

"You're not helping, Sergio. Cecchino started scratching when he got nervous, it cannot be a coincidence. I never saw him scratching that way. Cecchino, why don't you try to calm down?"

"Easier said than done!" Cecchino snorted without stopping scratching.

"One moment!" Marcello intervened. "Cecchino, listen here."

If people found out he knew that joke, Marcello was sure, and Mamma and Zia Claudia came to know it, he would have been a dead m… ahem, boy. And only because they could not have gotten angry with the real culpable, Papà. But if there was something that could have distracted Cecchino, it was that joke.

"So there's a girl washing clothes in winter" Marcello began. "And for the cold she has red feet. A priest passes by, and asks her the reason of it. The beautiful laundress answers she has fire under her. So the priest handles that limb that made him priest instead of nun, and gently asks her if she can… _light his candle_!"

Most of the occupants of the room burst into laughter, everyone but Andreas, who seemed not to have understood it, Ferenc who had stayed serious, and Arturo, who looked quite surprised.

"Who are you, what did you do with Marcello Auditore?" Arturo asked with a smirk.

"It's just his father's blood peeping out, no problem" Cecchino chuckled. "And about time too, he looked a bit too innocent for the name he carries."

"Well it wasn't mine" Marcello made an embarrassed grin. "My father let it slip once in front of me… a friend of his had an idea about it when he and my father were in the streets of Roma."

"And that friend was…?" Cecchino asked. He had finally taken his hand off his neck.

Marcello widely grinned.

"Leonardo da Vinci."

His answer caused much more laughter than the joke.

* * *

><p><em>August 16<em>

_I don't know how much time Cecchino spent scratching himself, but he has scraped his neck, and Ferenc decided to take control of the matter so Cecchino won't get nervous again._

_We're thinking at ways to convince the Germans there are ghosts around. It would be perfect if we found black cats, but Andreas also suggested shedding animals' blood and leaving writings on the wall, something like "The Great Devil will take your souls" or something like that. When I made him notice that it's not something Vanni would do, he told me we have to let their fears have it their way. If they think he was the devil dressed as a man, we have to make them believe it._

* * *

><p><em>August 17<em>

_That dodger Andreas decided to use the brimstone from his medical supplies, scatter it around and burn it. The streets will be filled with smell of sulfur, ha! The soldiers are getting paranoid, and Andreas spreading rumors of strange sightings doesn't help them. When we'll see the soldiers bouncing or screaming at the least shady sign, or trying to send for a priest, that will be the time to strike. Until then, let's only hope Cecchino stops scratching for once._

* * *

><p><em>January 24, 2013, Rockport Headquarters<em>

Someone, that morning, had gotten out of the wrong side of the bed. It was the only explanation Shaun could have for the strange behavior of everyone. Maybe he could explain Ayden staying away from him, as he was a bloody loner. But Jack, that Desmond jerk, Amber, and even Matthew… he smelled a rat.

If Matthew, even talking to him, stayed five steps away, there was definitely something wrong. They behaved just like if he still had the flu. Or like if he had the plague.

As for Rebecca, maybe she was the one avoiding him in the worst way. When he had entered the kitchen to have breakfast – and the others had just kept a distance – Rebecca had gotten out of the room. When they had started Jack's Animus session, she had announced she needed to go to the restroom. At that point, Amber had announced she would have taken care of the database, and Shaun had ended up taking care of Rusty, at the moment the only living being in the mansion having some kind of an interest in him. Maybe even more than usual, as the only thing the critter liked of him were the shoes, so that Shaun had had to borrow Desmond's spare pair after all the "small marks" the dog's teeth had made on his own.

Speaking about the devil, Desmond was not too far from there, and for who knew what miracle he was reading. He was bound to have noticed Shaun was looking at him in a not too friendly way, because he had looked up from the book.

"Could I know what's wrong with you all today?" Shaun snorted looking at him and trying to keep Rusty down.

Desmond stifled a laugh.

"You stink" he let slip.

"Pardon?" Shaun asked.

"You smell awful and the others noticed" Desmond resolved looking down again.

"You're taking the Mickey out of me" Shaun replied.

"No, I'm not, whoever that "Mickey" is. Amber left you a little gift in the shower head while I was cleaning the pot."

"And you only tell me now?"

Desmond lowered his head and restarted reading.

"I'm talking to you!" Shaun replied in an exasperated tone.

"She says she no longer recognizes you" Desmond mumbled without looking up. "And once you would have done much more than this, just to give hell to Abstergo."

"She told you this?" Shaun pulled a face. "She hasn't even ever seen an Abstergo guard in real life… who does she think she is!"

"Oh, she has seen them indeed. Ayden told me she used the Apple on them after we left the Temple" Desmond replied, his head still bent on the book. Shaun was speechless.

"Amber… the Apple?"

That girl always toddling after him, with still the enthusiasm of a schoolgirl, had used a Piece of Eden and lived to tell the tale?

"She's a descendant of Giovanni Borgia." Desmond finally looked up from the book. "As you see, you're not the only one with a heavy inheritance. I don't know how could the Watchmen find it out… they probably found out she has Eagle Vision or something like that."

If it really was like that, Shaun thought, that could explain how Amber had managed to find him always and in any case, despite sometimes he had even pretended not to be there so she could not pester him.

Desmond stood up and set the book aside.

"Anyway, there's no one in the restroom on my floor. If you want to have a shower there, there's no souvenir in the pipes… I highly doubt Rebecca was attracted by the smell."

"Well at least now I know how to keep her at bay" Shaun couldn't help being sarcastic.

"I'd tell her everything if I were you, anyway. About the chicken shower, I mean. Just in case there are still traces of the cube in the shower" Desmond resolved.

"Or I could spill the beans to Beatrice and make Amber clean the shower again" Shaun resolved.

"Would you really tell the tale to Mama Bear?" Desmond smirked and frowned, in a way not too dissimilar from what Shaun had seen in the recordings of Ezio Auditore's memories.

"Well, yes. I was up to pay her a visit to tell her about my plan to get into the Philadelphia Compound" Shaun explained.

"We do have a plan, Smart Ass" Desmond snorted. "And it's to wait for them to call the electricians and take their place."

"They can wait for the electricians. They couldn't for an Assassin with a huge price on his head" Shaun replied. "It will only take two Assassins dressed up as Abstergo guards and we'll have a perfect Trojan Horse."

Desmond had a start and stepped backwards. Luckily for Shaun, he sighed before speaking and didn't throw a tantrum like a brat.

"You're not thinking of sending me in there as the chained Chewbacca, are you?" he asked.

"Not you, Desmond" Shaun resolved folding his arms. "_Me_."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Some trivia:<strong>_

_**Garçia Alvarez de Toledo eventually became an Admiral. **__**And yeah, he was apprenticed to Andrea Doria as a boy.**_

_**For who does not remember: Giovanni dalle Bande Nere was known as the Great Devil among the German soldiers. I mentioned it in Chapter 9.**_

_**As for the chicken shower, I googled "pranks" and found that. Aeon Hawk suggested me to make Amber bleach Shaun's hair, but not even Amber is that mean, even if Lucrezia Borgia is her ancestor! Oh and Rebecca is vegetarian, for who doesn't know, that's why she puts up worse with the smell.**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Comunque sì = Anyway yes<strong>_

_**Rompicoglioni = pain in the ass**_

_**E buonanotte al secchio = good night to the bucket, literally. Typical expression meaning that everything has gone wrong. One less literal translation would be "and that's that, the fat lady has sung"**_

_**Giusto? = right?**_

_**E per la miseria! **__**= hell's bells, holy smoke**_

_**¡Son unos zoquetes!. **__**Él es un artista, ella es una letrada y ambos pertenecen a buenas familias. **__**Ahora, por favor marchesé, aquí estamos hablando de asuntos serios. (SPANISH) = They aren't oafs. He is an artist, she is literate, and they both come from good families. Now if you could please leave, here we are talking about serious matters!**_

_**Caramba (SPANISH) = gee**_

_**Klootzakken! (DUTCH) = bastards!**_

_**En wie is die zogenaamde "Grote Duivel"? (DUTCH) = And who's this Great Devil?**_


	27. The Great Devil Returns

**_And sorry for the long time away... action scenes, a failed Physics exam and cosplay take a lot of time, and I actually rewrote some of the scenes before deciding it was OK.  
>No glossary this time 'cause I only used simple words that you readers should be used to find in the story. Oh and the song "Another one bites the dust" is by Queen.<em>**

* * *

><p><em>February 1, 2013, somewhere on I-95<em>

Sitting in the rear of the minivan, and wearing a starched and uncomfortable uniform, Desmond Miles was dying… _out of boredom_.

Shaun's plan had been simple only on the surface: _he_ would have gotten into the Abstergo compound with his usual dorky attire, his usual hairstyle and his usual binoculars, with the only addition of a pair of escapist's handcuffs that looked extremely solid but could be removed by the "prisoner" in a heartbeat.

Desmond and Jack instead in the previous days had went through a torture-like grooming. Since December 21st, Desmond's hair had somewhat grown wild, and that could have already given him quite an advantage… but Amber had decided "not to take the risk", had shoved his head in the sink and had bleached his hair and eyebrows. Not to mention all the greasepaint she had used – she had said so – to hide his scar.

Jack, napping near him with nausea relief bands on his wrists, had been reduced in an even worse state. When Desmond had met him, it had been clear to him the boy liked to keep his hair at middle length. Amber had grabbed an electric hair clipper and had given him a sort of badly-made crew cut, then he had shoved his head in the sink too and dyed his light brown hair a lot of shades darker.

When they had managed to get their hands on uniforms and caps and Beatrice had made them change into them, Desmond had hardly recognized himself in the mirror, let alone in the pictures Matthew had immediately taken them to forge documents.

Probably, he would have had to undergo the sink torture even in the case he had pretended to be an electrician, but pretending to be an Abstergo guard was… more embarrassing. Add insult to injury with Shaun comfortable and happy in his usual attire and with a pair of new shoes, Desmond felt the itch to shove his head in the shitter as soon as they got back to Rockport. With his glasses on.

For who knew what miracle, Rebecca was driving and had not crashed them against a wall yet. Shaun, sitting in the passenger's front seat, was happily chatting with her, but Desmond had no will to pay them attention.

At least he had taken Flavia's book before leaving. The last thing he had read about were the preparations for the attack in Regensburg.

Maybe reading the report of the attack could have given them some good ideas…

* * *

><p><em>August 20<em>

_This is it._

_This morning, Arturo saw a priest – we don't know if papist or Lutheran – walking around the barracks and sprinkling holy water. No matter the Creed of that priest, that was the signal._

_Today, while the soldiers will be busy with lunch, Andreas and I will scatter brimstone in the streets again._

_Then, at midnight, we'll attack._

* * *

><p>Chapter 26<p>

The Great Devil Returns

_August 20, 1532, Ratisbon_

As always, at that time of the night, one could have heard a pin falling to the ground for the silence.

Until the twelve tolls.

* * *

><p><em>August 21<em>

Marcello sank his head in the collar of his shirt and rubbed his arms. Despite the summer, he couldn't help feeling cold.

When the last tolling of the bell was lost in the wind, Marcello struck the steel with the flint and lit a candle, then he tied the candle to a sack so that the opening was downwards, like in the parachutes he had seen some Assassins in Roma use.

He didn't know how he had gotten that idea… maybe because of the flying machine story he had read in his father's memories.

But those paper sacks, with a candle under them, if they were left go, they floated in the air. Like ghosts.

That would have scared off the guards indeed. There were people down to earth enough not to believe in rumors, not to think black cats were the devil, and to think anyone could have left writings on walls. The "flying ghosts" would have probably scared off them, too.

After Marcello's sack was up in the air, from another rooftops another one rose. _Arturo_, Marcello thought. After Arturo's sack, it was Andreas's time.

It was the signal. At any moment, Cecchino would have gotten out of the old collapsing storehouse where he was hiding.

Marcello ran to the edge of the roof and jumped, landing in a haystack in the corner of the street. He stood up, slinked off into an alley, and waited.

A yell tore through the nightly sky. The doors of the storehouse busted open, courtesy of Sergio and Ferenc, who had made a system of battering rams to open them. Cecchino marched out of the crumbling building.

He had his armor covered in plaster powder, pieces of chains on his ankles, the face almost completely covered by the helm, and his right leg was covered in chicken blood. He could even look funny to Marcello, but he knew it was a sham.

The soldiers didn't.

The ones standing guard at Salm's barracks made some steps backwards. Marcello couldn't understand what they were saying, but they were visibly terrorized. It was sufficient for Cecchino to yell again for them to walk backwards. Arturo leapt on one and killed him with his hidden blade. Andreas got out of a hay cart and got the other with a rondel dagger.

The Assassins and the former Bande soldiers filled the street.

"_Va bene_, guys, let's show our dear friends what it means to use manners" Cecchino intervened, smirking under the helm. He looked even funnier now he had dropped the ghost façade, but he made a few steps backwards and restarted playing the part.

Marcello ran to the portal and left at its base a bomb, not too dissimilar from the one he had used to blow up the bridge on the Po river. The main difference with that one was the small amount of sulfur Ferenc had added in it, to reinforce the ghost sham.

The team, including Cecchino, started walking backwards. Andreas and Arturo kept some smoke bombs at the ready.

Marcello ran away from the portal and hid behind a corner. He pulled out his hidden gun, loaded it and aimed to the bomb. The portal blew up in a cloud of wooden splints and iron fragments. Judging by the screams inside, the debris had hit some of the guards.

Andreas and Arturo were the first to step forward, and, one after another, tossed the bombs. Cecchino rushed into the basement and started yelling, brandishing the sword Marcello had lent him and, presumably, slashing throats.

_Brace yourselves, Templars_, Marcello smirked and got closer to the remains of the door, _the Great Devil is back._

They waited for the smoke to fade. Some of the soldiers entered and ganged up with Cecchino.

As the skirmish flared up, soldiers came from the hallways, either to join the fight or to run.

All according to plans.

He gestured to Arturo and Andreas and they crossed the threshold. Just like planned, Cecchino, Ferenc and the soldiers had gotten away from the main hall, leaving the way clear for the three Apprentices.

Or almost, as some of the German soldiers were running away in terror. Luckily, Andreas's, Arturo's and Marcello's pitch black clothes showed them as threats to the enemy's eyes, and most of the soldiers only cared about getting out of there.

"What are we looking for?" Andreas asked looking around. From the main hall, several hallways departed.

"Clues. Anything that might tell us where your father could have been, or where could he be. If we found pieces of his clothes, we'd be on the right track, for example. But I doubt he has been tortured. Even if Assassins are involved, for a soldier, to kill or maim a physician…"

"… is a sacrilege to say the least, we know" Arturo interrupted him. "Especially if that physician works for the Kaiser."

"Sure, but Salm?" Andreas asked. "He's no soldier. He's a Count and a Templar."

"Boy, make up your mind!" Arturo snorted inspecting the floor. "First you don't trust the Assassins. Then you fear the Templars. You sound like my ten-year-old little brother!"

"You have a little brother? Lucky you" Andreas said as Marcello kept inspecting the floor. He called upon his eagle vision, hoping for it to show him a sign, a clue, anything.

"Not one. Two seventeen-year-old sisters, twins, and a little ten-year-old brother" Arturo answered as he inspected the walls. "I joined the Brotherhood for them."

"Really?" Andreas asked. He was the only person staying still in the room.

"When I was fifteen, my brother and I were threatened by a pair of Spanish scoundrels. No one in the town raised a finger, a _finger_ I say, to help us." Arturo raised his pinky finger. "I thought about joining the Papal Army to chase the Spaniards away from Italia. And at that point… I met Marcello here."

"You told him something, didn't you, Marcello?" Andreas hinted at a grin.

"What could a twelve-year-old have told me?" Arturo replied. "I don't think he even knew exactly the odds of that war. But we talked about our homes, our families. Marcello didn't tell me anything about the Brotherhood, but I realized there was something under it… and there were who knew how many stories like mine and yours, and too many bystanders who wouldn't have raised a finger."

"Stories?" Andreas asked. "Marcello, what does that mean?"

"Long story" Marcello spotted one of the doors and pulled the handle. "Let's just say that, hadn't it been for my parents, for Flavia and for a couple of friends in a nearby town, I would have had a crappy childhood."

The door opened on a pitch black corridor. Marcello lit another candle and ignited one of the torches on the walls. He grabbed the torchlight and made a few steps forward.

There were some cells, the smell of dirt, sweat and excrements filled the stale air, and Marcello's torch traced a circle of light on the floor.

Andreas made a few steps forward, put his hands in front of his mouth and shouted "_Vader_!". Only silence answered him.

Arturo got another torch from the wall and lit it putting it next to Marcello's one.

"Let's check everywhere. He could be asleep or something like that" he said striding forward. "And Andreas… don't shout."

He passed through the corridor, keeping the torchlight high. Marcello lifted his own and looked at the closest cell. There was something, but…

"Arturo, come back!"

To an inattentive looker, the mesh could have looked closed, but it wasn't. Not only: there was a key in the keyhole.

As Arturo got closer, Marcello passed the light to Andreas and entered the room. It seemed to have been left just recently: the blankets on a bench had been turned over, on the top of them there was a bowl with some scraps of food, and, in a corner, there was a bucket full of shit that, judging by the look and the smell, had not been there for long.

"Bleagh" Arturo commented joining Marcello.

"Why, what do you crap out?" Andreas replied.

"Nothing with which I'd share the room I eat in, if I can" Arturo resolved. "By the way, this is it. There was someone here until not too much ago, but he's been taken hastily away."

He got out of the cell, took his harquebus from his shoulders and started loading it. Marcello did the same with his hidden gun, and Andreas stared at them, uncertain about what to do, but he held up a throwing knife.

Arturo did not need to say what to do for everyone to understand: Doctor van Wesel had been taken in the middle of the clash to be used as a hostage.

"Let's get to the point…" Under pressure, Andreas had shown a new resolve. "If Salm is really using my father as a shield, he's all bark and no bite. He knows he can't defend himself from the Bande Nere, so he makes sure he can't be attacked. Then again, he's quite old… seventy-three, I think."

Marcello nodded, but he couldn't help thinking that Papà would have been that old, had he been still alive.

If the soldiers from Cathay had been supported by La Motte in Paris, maybe they had been aided in Toscana, too… but who had helped them? The only Templar agent they knew about, the mysterious Lorenzo, if he really was Cosimo's second cousin, couldn't have been older than ten at the time. And it couldn't have been Giambattista… he had shown himself as a good spy, but he had acted much more like a lackey than like a commander.

And it could not have been Salm. He would have been too far to play a part in the attack at home.

There was still someone lurking in the shadows. And, even after Salm's death, he would have continued striking like a snake in the underbrush.

"According to plans, Salm and the soldiers should have been driven into the inner courtyard" Arturo mumbled scratching at the stubble on his chin. "Marcello, you have your gun, no? If you could shoot from under an archway…"

Marcello raised a hand and shook his head.

"No, Arturo. We can't kill him immediately."

Arturo pulled a face, Andreas instead bounced on the spot.

"Marcello!" he protested. "That man…"

"I know, Andreas" Marcello nodded. "That man could kill your father. But he's not the only one plotting in the dark. Probably if my father fell sick and died, it was because other men like Salm let the attackers reach him. I want the names, Andreas. I want the truth."

"Nothing is true, Marcello. And you did tell me we must do what we can."

"And everything is permitted, Andreas."

"It is this way but…" Andreas started to reply, then he sighed and stared at his feet. "Marcello, please… save my father."

Marcello looked around and found a flight of stairs. He was not going to shoot Salm… death could have come too fast with a bullet.

He ran up the stairs and through two hallways, and reached a window opening on the inner courtyard. Cecchino, bareheaded, two soldiers and two Assassins were on one side, while on another, Salm was pointing a gun to Doctor van Wesel's head. Apart from two guards, he seemed to be alone.

"Nice try, Assassins" Salm was saying without moving. "Faking a ghost to scare the soldiers. You can fool them, but not the commander."

"It's over, Salm" Ferenc intervened from Cecchino's side. "Let the doctor go. I've already sent a message to the Brotherhood… the Sultan will retreat. The Ottoman Army will not march on Vienna… but Hungary is ours."

As Ferenc spoke, Cecchino laid his look on the windows, and crossed his eyes with Marcello. A smirk made its way on his lips.

"You know, Niklas, you forgot something" he said taking a hand to his neck.

Despite he was showing his braggart façade, his nervous gesture betrayed his fear.

The Count of Salm looked at him in a questioning way. Marcello took a better look at him. He was the same men who had ordered Arturo to be killed in Governolo. Probably, the same man who had ordered the cannons to shoot.

"It was not Giovanni de'Medici who assassinated Georg Von Frundsberg" Cecchino said out loud making a step forward and opening his arms. "Nor the young soldier you ordered to kill. Giovanni had a student. A little boy, at the time. One you considered an easy target and were planning to kidnap. He was the one who pulled the trigger."

Marcello climbed on the window sill and extended his hidden blade. Cecchino seemed ready to give a signal, and Salm was staring at him, fear in his look, without taking his eyes off him.

"You do not have to fear Giovanni de'Medici's ghost… nor an average Giovanfrancesco Cellini. The man you have to fear is Marcello Auditore!"

That was the signal. Marcello leapt off the window and landed on the Count, sinking his blade in a spot not covered by the armor. Doctor van Wesel was petrified by shock, but he quickly stepped backwards, and the Assassins hastily put Salm's guards at bay.

Marcello pulled back his blade and knelt on the dying Templar. Salm had started coughing blood. But, before dying, he would have talked.

"You have allies. In Italia. Someone powerful. Who are they? Who cut the funds for the Bande Nere?" Marcello snarled grabbing the Count's shirt collar.

Salm sneered.

"You're like your father, brat. Always looking for revenge. Always watching the corrupted Medici's back. They will fall, Auditore, and this time once and for all, like the bastards they are."

"But Duca Alessandro…" Cecchino mumbled as he approached them.

"Nothing more than a puppet in the hands of the Pope." Salm coughed up more blood. "Take Hungary, Assassins. We'll have Napoli, Firenze and one day France and England… and no _ghost_ will thwart us."

"You can already forget about Napoli, _Eccellenza_" Marcello spat out the title. "And I swear on my father's memory that no Templar will put his hands on my city as long as I have life, no matter his name."

Salm could no longer hear him. He no longer breathed, and his eyes were still and glassy, still pointed into Marcello's.

"_Requiescat in pace_" Marcello murmured closing his eyes.

He stood up and looked around. The two guards had been taken care of by Ferenc and Remo, an Assassin who had come with them from Venezia.

Doctor van Wesel was looking around, visibly staggered, still scared for what had happened, then he looked at Marcello.

"Assassini?"

His Italian was broken, but he had already shown himself able to hold a simple conversation. Or to understand, if Marcello had managed to shout at him a month before.

"You're safe, Doctor. It's over" Cecchino grinned and approached him. He was the only one who wasn't wearing a hood or anything like that, but he was a stranger to Doctor van Wesel.

"No…" the doctor panted. "My son… they wanted him…"

In the corner of his eye, Marcello glimpsed Arturo and Andreas under an archway. Arturo was trying to push Andreas outside, but the latter seemed quite reluctant.

"Andreas is safe" Marcello commented. "He never was in danger. Actually, it was also because of him we managed to get in."

"By the way, Marcello, this is yours" Cecchino unstrapped the sword and sheath from his belt and handed them to Marcello. "E grazie."

Marcello got back the sword, without looking away from Arturo and Andreas who were still discussing. He got closer and gave both of them a questioning look.

"Andreas, your father is worried for you" he said.

"And how do I explain him this?" Andreas replied pointing first at his hidden blade and then at his hood. "I'm just a rebellious student to him, not an Assassin. He doesn't even know Mother is one!"

"He's your old man. He'll understand." Arturo put a hand on his shoulder. "Mine did. You've got nothing to be ashamed of. You should be proud of it. You're an Assassin and you _saved his life_."

Andreas stayed still and silent.

"Listen, if you want to tell him another day, give me your weapons and take off your hood" Marcello resolved. "But you can't hide it forever, not after what he has seen."

Andreas sighed.

"Guess I'll tell him now, then."

He pulled his hood back and walked into the courtyard.

* * *

><p><em>August 22, 1532<em>

_Dear Flavia and Alessio,_

_It's done. Salm is dead._

_However, we have had the confirmation that someone is really plotting in the shadows, in Italia. They want to eradicate the Medici once and for all, and I think they're also making plots for Napoli… but I think you know what I'm writing about._

_We're on our way to Vienna, and soon we'll come home. Andreas's father is safe, and the Sultan will not cross the border between Hungary and the remainder of the Holy Roman Empire. Vienna is too well defended now from a possible direct attack, and from what I've seen at their camp, they left behind a lot of their heavy artillery. Then again, if the war went on, now summer is coming to an end, the Germans would have the advantage._

_See you at home. Take care._

_Marcello._

* * *

><p><em>August 26, 1532, Vienna<em>

After the news of the Ottoman retreat, the city life had restarted flowing normally once again. The empty stands were occupied once again, there were people in the streets, and the air was filled with noise, the smell of food and the chat of passersby.

Marcello had spent the morning trying to explain, with gestures and the few German words he knew, how to play _calcio_ to a group of troublemaking children, after one of them had considered amusing hitting his face with a blow of his ball. At least, they found more fun in team play than in picking on people.

Marcello wished it was always so easy. It was a bit like the war.

The rascals were the people, a Templar would have taken the ball from them despite it was their own. And that would not have been fair.

Freedom was a right, no matter what people did with it, it was not to be taken that way.

He was still deep into his thoughts when something tackled him from behind. He was ready to tell another hellion to get lost when he noticed the so-called attacker was no one but Andreas.

"Cazzo, Andreas, what happened again?" he snorted. His friend seemed on the point of jumping out of joy… if he had not already done it.

"I'm going to Paris!" Andreas almost shouted. "My father is sending me to Paris!"

"Paris. So what? Didn't you spend the summer there before you started university?" Marcello lifted his scarred eyebrow.

"I'll study there!" Andreas explained. "At the Sorbonne!"

"At the Sorbonne… you… it's great!" Marcello grinned. "So you'll finish your training in Paris too?"

"Obviously" Andreas shrugged. "The point is they don't know me, over there! Not as well as people in Leuven! I'll have to be careful anyway and hide in plain sight, but wasn't that the Creed already?"

Marcello shrugged in turn and nodded, then he patted him on the shoulder.

"Seriously, Andreas, congratulations. I'm so happy for you."

Andreas put in turn one hand on Marcello's shoulder, then he pulled him in a hug.

"You're going home now, right?" he asked. "Or to Venezia to see that girl?"

"What girl?"

"Whatsername… Laura, isn't it? That one who kissed you last Fat Tues."

"You mean Arturo's sister?"

"Is she Arturo's sister?" Andreas chuckled.

"One of the two" Marcello sighed and sat on a bench.

"Laura. Like Laura de Noves, Petrarca's muse."

"My mother told me so too. By the way, I think I'll go home. Why don't you visit, when you have time? I could introduce you my friends…"

Andreas sat next to him and stifled a laugh.

"You're as red as a beetroot, Marcello."

"What? Me? Who?" Marcello took a hand to his face.

"You care about this Laura, don't you?"

Marcello nodded.

"Then go and tell her!" Andreas resolved.

"She knows…" Marcello tried to reply.

"So what's the point? Arturo?"

"No. Her father" Marcello sighed and looked at his boots. "I don't think I'm brave enough to ask him for Laura's hand. That was supposed to be my father's job."

"Brave enough? What do you fear?" Andreas grinned sympathetically.

"What if he sends me away?"

"And what if you spend your whole life alone to curse your fear? You told me that, Marcello. It's better to take a stand and fail, than not to take it and live with the cold feet."

"It's live with the _regret_, Andreas."

"Whatever!" Andreas stood up and laughed. "Seriously, Marcello, you can never know when it's your last chance. You like that girl? Go and get her!"

* * *

><p><em>Unfortunately, Marcello turned out to be deaf to that advice. Andreas expected it – he already knew about Laura because of his correspondence with Marcello, and now he knew the girl was Arturo's sister, he made the second most reasonable thing he could have done: he spilled the beans to Arturo.<em>

_In the meantime, in Napoli, things went by in a quite peaceful way… well except for the threats. Garçia had warned his older brother Federigo, too, and now he, too, intercepted the threats._

_Then, what we feared happened: a few days before Don Pietro's designation to Viceroy, the wrecker smashed a window. There was no time left to try to catch him red-handed: we had to lure him out._

* * *

><p><em>February 1, Philadelphia, former Assassin training camp<em>

The door of the van was opened, and Shaun gave a killer look to Desmond who still was reading and Jack, still fast asleep.

"We're there" he announced. "Jack! Wake up!"

Jack yawned, then he looked around and took off his nausea relief bands.

"Leave everything here, we're hiding this" Shaun said gesturing them to get down.

They were in what seemed an old, long-abandoned commune. The grass was tall, withered and wild, and there were wooden huts that seemed to have passed a decade exposed to bad weather. Some of the roofs were gone, without any doubt blown off by Hurricane Sandy the previous October.

"Where are we, Shaun?" Jack asked getting off the van.

"Philadelphia" Shaun replied. "This was an Assassins' compound. Before the Purge. Before Cross."

Desmond looked around and gave a closer look. There were bullet holes on the walls of some cabins, and old stains of what seemed to be blood. Ten years of neglect could have erased some of the evidence, but the proofs of the attack still were there. One of Desmond's boots came into contact with something hard and metallic. He bent down to examine it. A pair of glasses, with a metal frame and a broken lens.

"This place gives me the creeps" Jack commented. "It's worse than an abandoned battlefield."

"This has been a battlefield" Shaun said. "And it hurts because… it's a dead place. If this scared, just you wait until you see a concentration camp."

"I don't think it would break me up like this" Jack replied. "People were sent to their death in there. Here… people lived here. Sarah told me about the attack, or at least of what she had seen. They hardly managed to take her to safety. Only in Rockport my mother told her and me how important we were."

"So Sarah lived here?" Desmond asked.

Jack was up to answer, but the silence was broken by a somewhat dumb ringtone, and Shaun put a hand in his pocket and pulled a mobile phone out of it.

"They're coming" he said, rejecting the call.

"Who's coming?" Jack asked.

From behind a hut appeared a black minivan with the Abstergo logo on the sides. But the two men who got out of it wore civilian clothes, and Desmond could discern a hidden blade under the sleeve of one of them.

"And the show begins" Shaun gave a sigh.

One of the two, the one wearing a blade, approached the group and lifted an eyebrow.

"… Desmond?" he asked pulling a face. He did not seem too sure of what he was saying.

Desmond knew that man. Alan Wood. They had grown up together, at the Farm, and maybe he had even been the one who had almost stopped him from running away. Was he a Watchman, too?

"Nice costume" Alan commented eyeing him up and down. "And I've spent sixteen years with ya! If I hadn't known you were in here…"

"Why did you come, in your opinion?" the other Assassin asked approaching them and holding out a hand. "Desmond Miles, aren't you? Rolf Madsen, nice to meet you."

After Desmond shook his hand, Rolf passed him what seemed a bundle of documents, including a magnetic card, an identity card and a driving license, all with the false name "George Bowen" on it and the pictures taken some days before.

"I thought Fahim Pritchard had made them" Jack commented as he took his own documents.

"He did" Rolf said. "He put them together, then he came to give 'em to us in New York. We made the magnetic cards in there, the airport security systems would have detected something… or worse, demagnetized everything. As soon as you have managed to run off, leave the city, we'll meet in Southampton. Desmond and Jack, who of you two can drive?"

"I only have a motorbike license" Desmond hinted at a grin.

"I'll drive" Jack intervened grabbing the keys of the minivan from Rolf's hand.

"Let's go, then" Shaun said walking towards the car.

"No, you wait over there, whatshisname!" Alan said pulling out what looked like some markers. "Sure you would never be captured without a fight, huh?"

"It's _Shaun_" Shaun replied. "and if you think I'll agree to be punched or something…"

"Just come here, okay?" Alan approached with one of the markers and took off Shaun's glasses. "Listen here, Dez and Jack didn't sign up into Abstergo, they just faked it. And do you really think we'd make you a real black eye?"

As soon as he understood they only had to draw fake wounds on him, Shaun visibly relaxed and let Alan do the work.

"Only wounds won't do" Jack whispered to Desmond pocketing his fake documents. "I mean, he looks like half a panda but his clothes are clean? No way, man!"

"What should we do?" Desmond whispered in return.

"Don't you get it?" Jack smirked. "We get scalped and he gets the Halloween make up… this calls for _vendetta_!"

He nudged Desmond and pointed at the ground under their feet. Desmond grinned, then he chuckled and got a handful of dirt.

"At my signal, bro" Jack said as Alan finished with Shaun's fake wounds. "One… two… three… FIRE!"

"What… the… puah… _fuck_?" Apparently, some dirt had ended up even in Shaun's mouth, and he was trying to spit it out. "You… bleagh!... two!"

"Well…" Desmond smirked, then he crooned an old song he had heard on a radio "…another one bites the dust!"


	28. All in a Day

_**The chapter may be "All in a Day", but it took much more time to write it (I'm not happy if I don't replace a scene!). I could get my first degree in a month if everything goes OK, but I'm not being a model student at all and I'm also making a "reloaded" version of this story which I'm publishing on Archive Of Our Own (my nickname is the same!). As soon as this story is complete I'll replace the chapters with the corrected version here, too... or maybe I'll just make another version here, too.**_

* * *

><p>Chapter 27<p>

All in a Day

_February 1, 2013, Philadelphia, Abstergo Compound_

As he crossed the main entrance, clutching Shaun's arm and dragging him through the hall, Desmond couldn't help feeling panic.

Less than a year before, he had been the black and blue, dirty, and shackled guy, and in his case it hadn't been a sham. In the bargain the main hall, with its clearly visible pipes and evident modern industrial style, reminded him too much the Roman facility.

One of the guards was approaching them, with a baton in a hand and the usual look of a man believing to own the place. Desmond gritted his teeth and stayed still. That man flattered himself that he had the power over that place… but if he had only known how Templars crapped out on his head…

"Halt! Identify yourselves!"

Desmond tried to act as normally as he could, pulled out the fake documents, without letting Shaun go, and showed them to the guard.

"George Bowen, and this is Thomas Ferrara. We're from the Florence, NY contingent" he explained as Jack showed "his own" documents. "We have found this man squatting in a dwelling in which Assassins had been previously found. We believe he's one of the… Turin gang."

The guard examined Shaun's face, staring back at him for a moment that seemed endless, then he addressed Desmond again.

"Yes… block A, second floor" he mumbled. "Look for O'Brien. Routine is Animus for any potential… _witness_."

Desmond felt sick. If things had gone bad, for Shaun it would have been the end. They would have found out about Andreas, for a start, and maybe about the Mars matter and the Philosopher's Stone. They would have found out _he_ was alive, restarted the manhunt and they would have forced him to cooperate by hook or by crook, especially now that, as it seemed, he had come back from "the dead".

"What's up, you dickhead?" Shaun hissed at him. "Did you shit your pants?"

"Shut the fuck up!" Jack gave him a right hook in the stomach and Shaun doubled over. It was a sham. Nothing but a sham. And they only had to hope the guard would buy it.

"I'm afraid you'll be stuck with him for a while, though" the guard continued in a more sympathetic tone. "As far as I know, O'Brien and Berg should be on a lunch break at this time, but I think Stefanie Madsen is still on the dot. By the way, if you haven't eaten, the canteen is open until 4 pm, so even when you're done, you should find something…"

_When we're done, we'll be ALL out of here, you piece of shit_, Desmond thought pushing Shaun towards the hallways leading to block A.

As they walked away in the deserted hallway, Jack looked at Desmond and hinted at a grin.

"So who do you think O'Brien is?" he asked.

Desmond would have never said it out loud, but the name gave him a bad feeling. In a movie he had seen in the late evening, a night he had stayed in bed with a few lines of fever, O'Brien had been a torturer who had put the main character in front of his worst fear.

"Maybe he's the guy who took Vidic's place after he ended up murdered in Rome" he said, keeping the façade of the guard.

They stayed in a religious silence until they arrived to the elevator, and only then Jack spoke, to ask Desmond if he remembered on which floor they were supposed to go. Desmond was up to answer when the doors of the elevator opened and a brown-haired woman with reading glasses and a lab coat got out.

"Are you George Bowen and Thomas Ferrara?" she grinned, span a pen between her thumb and index fingers, and then… _she folded her ring finger_.

"Stefanie Madsen?" Desmond asked.

"It's me. If you follow me, I'll take you to the research center. I'm warning you though, Dolores is not supposed to get back in before she ends her lunch break" Stefanie said gesturing to them to get into the elevator.

"Dolores?" Jack lifted an eyebrow.

"Doctor O'Brien" Stefanie explained pushing the second floor button.

Desmond's jaw dropped. _Dolores_? A _woman_? It kept getting worse. That name only reminded him the Italian word for "pain".

The ring of a bell announced the arrival of the elevator. Stefanie got out of the cage and led them through the hallway.

"You should get a move, boys" she said turning to them. "If you get to the canteen too late, you'll only find the gross mush the others will have left."

She slid a badge in a fissure and dialed a code. The room that was opened in front of them looked horribly like the one that had been for one week Desmond's prison in Rome. There were an Animus, a desk, some computers, the same unnatural whiteness and a series of doors on the right side of the room.

"The cameras aren't filming" Stefanie announced, dropping the employee façade and tossing her lab coat and note pad on the Animus. "I used yesterday's recordings of the lunch break to…"

"I know the trick" Desmond intervened. "I hope you know how to turn them off once everything goes into short."

"Everything will get switched off, _George_" Stefanie said, with stressed irony in the false name. "Apart from the back-up power plant, that will do nothing but raise the alert and close the doors. Call them whatever you want, but here at Abstergo they would give their right hand before letting a subject die like mice on the sinking Titanic."

"Good" Jack resolved squinting and looking around. "We'll only have to find the cables. Shaun, the play is over, give us a hand."

Shaun sighed in relief and got rid of the handcuffs, then he pocketed them and started looking around.

"Sure, but you have the you-know-what!" he protested pointing at his own eyes. "What can you expect from a poor near-sighted historian?"

Desmond smirked and shook his head, then he called upon Eagle Vision. The memories of his confinement in Rome were stowed into a remote corner of his mind: the floor was _clean_. There was no trace of the glyphs Clay had left with his blood. Only the golden paths of the electric plant cables that supplied the Animus, the computers, and all the machinery in the room. Desmond followed the layout of the cables for a while, then he focused on a spot that his sixth sense pointed him out as the best.

"Over here!" he gestured Jack to get close, and pointed to him the weak spot he had spotted.

"Great" Jack bent his wrist backwards, and a hidden blade was extended out of his sleeve. "The party will be starting with crackers, guys."

"Do you want to make a short with that?" Desmond replied. "It's a hidden blade…"

"Electrified and isolated for the user's safety" Jack smirked as the blade started to emit the unmistakable buzz of a discharge.

"Wait!" Stefanie stopped him, then she took something from a glass showcase. "Shaun, you're unarmed, aren't you?"

Shaun shrugged and ventured an "You don't say?". Stefanie shoved in his hands the hidden blade she had just picked up.

"Where does this come from?" Shaun pulled a face.

"Cross stole it from the man he betrayed and killed" Stefanie explained. "Get by with it, we don't have too much of a choice."

"But…" Shaun protested, with Cross's blade in his hands.

"For Pete's sake, Shaun… it's the only weapon you can get, any port in a storm!" Stefanie resolved giving him a dirty look.

"Well I'm seasick" Shaun resolved strapping the blade to his arm. He had a disgusted look, but he no longer complained.

"Desmond, the first door to the right, Sarah is in there. Tell her who you are and take her outside immediately" Stefanie ordered. "Shaun… did you see that storage closet on the left? There are used Animus hard disks in it. Take the one with the number 18 on it. Jack… stay ready… three… two… one…"

Jack brought the blade down on the point Desmond had spotted. The lights went out. The sound of a siren pierced everyone's eardrums. All the doors were automatically opened wide.

Desmond rushed into the cell and looked around. Sarah Evans was there, sitting at a desk, with a half-empty tray of food in front of her.

She wasn't anymore the girl of the picture; her eyes were swollen, her hair was in a mess, and her clothes desperately needed a laundry.

"What the…?" she stuttered, trying to recognize the newcomer in the dim light.

"I'm Desmond, Desmond Miles!" Desmond made a few steps in the room and took Sarah's hand. "We're getting you out of there, Sarah!"

Sarah pulled her hand away.

"Desmond is dead. I've seen the body."

Desmond wiped away the greasepaint with a sleeve and took off his hat. Little did matter he still was blond, if the visor did not conceal part of his face.

"Nothing is true, Sarah Evans" he hinted at a grin. "_I am_ Desmond. And there's Jack Newell with me."

Sarah stood up and looked Desmond up and down in a challenging way

"Are you always… certain in the means…"

* * *

><p>"… <em>and the ways of the Brotherhood?" Aveline asked Connor enunciating slowly every word.<em>

"_I… trust…"_

* * *

><p>"… my own hands" Desmond found himself answering, then he took a hand to his mouth.<p>

Why had he said those words?

In front of him, Sarah was grinning.

"And I trust you."

They went back in the Animus room. It would have been dark if it hadn't been for the light coming from the windows. Shaun had in his hands what seemed not one, but two hard drives, and was loudly complaining with Jack for his stubbornness in taking another one.

"Jack, Shaun, that's enough!" Stefanie snorted. "Who has the charge?"

Jack pulled something from one of his pouches and lifted it up.

"Good, place it in the closet. They must not notice what we took" Stefanie resolved. Jack didn't let her repeat herself, he wrecked the shelves and placed the charge under the pile of drives on the ground.

"Now let's get away from here!" Stefanie resolved. "Berg and Dolores will be here as soon as they can!"

"Oh, I don't think Berg will" Sarah commented. "He's got his kid in here. If there's a fire, he'll rush to her, not here."

"Sarah, wait" Stefanie opened a locker and threw a bag at her. "This must be yours."

Sarah seized the bag with quick reflexes Desmond had not seen in many people apart from himself. _Bleeding Effect._ She pulled out of it two hidden blades and a handgun, then she put the backpack on her shoulders.

Despite his disguise was somewhat ruined, Desmond put his cap back on his head. Sarah looked at him and sighed.

"I don't know what you think, Desmond, but if you show that scar around people would recognize you like they do with Harry Potter" she commented.

"It didn't work with you" Desmond replied.

Sarah did not say anything else, pulled a bandana out of her backpack, tied it to his neck and lifted so it could cover his lower face.

"Let's get outta here" Jack said taking the hallway leading outside. "Stefanie, the fire escapes?"

"To the right, but we'll have to cross the parking lot!" Stefanie said as Jack started rushing towards the right side hallway.

They crossed the hallway, Jack pushed the crash bar and made sure everyone was outside, then he pulled a remote control out of a pocket and activated it. From the inside of the building echoed a bang.

"And the fire is served" Jack commented running down the stairs after Desmond and Sarah. "Let's go!"

The diversion of the short circuit and fire had surely put most of the compound in panic, because they were not the only ones crossing the parking lot in a rush. Many employees, researchers and visitors were rushing outside, but no guard could be seen. There even was a fire engine of the Philadelphia Fire Department coming.

Once they had arrived at a far enough dumpster, Stefanie pulled out a plastic bag and pulled Desmond's and Jack's hats off their heads.

"We no longer can go on, not like that" she explained. "Boys, I know it's cold, but take off your jackets. I have spare clothes in my car, but it's quite far away…"

"Why?" Jack asked taking off his jacket with a lot less enthusiasm than he would have normally done. His teeth had started chattering, and Desmond could understand him. Even he, without that horrible grayish piece of clothing, had started feeling cold.

"Jack, do you really think you won't draw attention if you walk around dressed as a… clown?" Sarah laughed and shook her head.

"No, why did she park the car so far away?" Jack rubbed his arms. "And why did Amber shear me like a sheep? It's fucking cold!"

"I don't think we could have used the car, if I had left it in the compound parking lot" Stefanie said putting the jackets in the plastic bag. "Walk, Newell, you'll get warm."

She tied the bag and shoved it unceremoniously in the dumpster.

"Before they'll think about looking in here, it will be in the incinerator" Stefanie resolved. "Let's go."

"You lot might have saved me from Vi_dick_ and Juno…" Desmond muttered between his teeth. "But today you made me risk death twice… boredom and now cold!"

It seemed no one was listening, but in front of him Sarah burst out into laughter.

"You owe me an account" she said giving him a poke on his arm. "As soon as we're home."

Stefanie's car was a five-year-old blue family vehicle, definitely something that could blend. Desmond could spot a blue duffel bag on the back seat. As soon as Stefanie opened it, Jack dove in, pulled out a hoodie of some basketball team and wore it immediately, pulling the hood forward and shoving his hands in the pockets.

"At last!" he sighed in relief. "Never take this off me!"

Desmond made a quick search in the bag, found a blue hooded jacket and put it on, then he passed the bag to Sarah.

"Pass it to Shaun after getting yours" Stefanie told her. "Those clothes may not be an uniform, but they could be recognized way too easily. There are hats too if you need them."

Sarah seized a sweater and wore it over the one she was already wearing, then she passed the bag to Shaun and got into the car. Once they had all changed, Jack got one of the hats and put it on, then he put the bag in the trunk with the hard drives and plopped down in the front seat.

"Hey, but what the…?" Shaun loudly complained.

"I could get carsick" Jack snorted from the front seat. "Did you forget it?"

"Do I have to hide in some way?" Sarah asked.

"No need to" Stefanie resolved. "We'll have to travel for half an hour, and as long as the firefighters will be busy with the arson, they won't be able to survey the building and realize we're gone. And they could believe you died in the fire."

"Well, let's hope we can fool them for long" Jack resolved yawning.

Stefanie took the driver's seat, Desmond instead stood next to the car door and waited for Shaun to get in.

"No freaking way, Jimmy Special, you'll sit in the middle" Shaun snorted. Desmond sighed and sat down, slouched in his seat and closed his eyes.

When he opened them they were in front of an average-looking brick house, in a road of a definitely off-center zone, and Sarah was poking him on a shoulder.

"Here we are. Southampton" Jack was saying from the sidewalk, with a broad grin on his face. There was their van in the driveway.

Desmond dragged himself out of the car and crossed the driveway. It was the last place in which one could have expected an Assassins' base, despite the house, a duplex, wasn't exactly small.

Stefanie rang the bell, and the door opened, but Desmond could not see anyone. He grabbed the handle, slammed the door open and walked in the hall, but at that point he heard a thud and a squeak, and he looked back to figure out the source of the noise.

"Ouch! That hurt!"

It was a small boy, with short black hair, a blue hoodie with the print of a green monster thing staring at a hanging candy, a plush dinosaur under his arm and slanted eyes covered by a pair of blue rubber-rimmed glasses.

He looked somewhat familiar, even if Desmond could not realize why.

"No one ever told you that you're not supposed to open to anyone who knocks?" Jack chuckled bending down.

"But Mami said Desmond was coming!" the kid squeaked, clutching the toy T-rex in his arms.

The awkward situation could have lasted longer, then a group of people rushed into the hall. Desmond immediately recognized Rebecca, Alan Wood and Rolf Madsen, along with an Asian woman that was bound to be the boy's mother.

"Joseph Conrad Ackermann!" the woman burst out. "How many more times do I have to tell you not to open the door to anyone?"

_Matthew's son?_, Desmond thought. _He wasn't wearing glasses in that picture…_

"But if the bell rings and it's Desmond, how does he get in?" Joseph pulled a face.

"That is Desmond, Joey" Rebecca said pointing at him.

"Yeah! See?" Joseph folded his arms and nodded. "I opened to _Desmond_, not to anyone!"

Joseph's reply provoked some laughter, then his mother crouched down and looked in his eyes.

"How could you know it was Desmond? I don't recall you being tall enough for the peephole."

Joseph shrugged and made the most innocent grin.

"Rebecca had said he was coming. So if someone rings the bell of course it's Desmond!"

"What if it was a Templar?"

"But Papa said a Templar won't ring the bell. They blow down the door like the big bad wolf!" Joseph pulled a face again.

"That's true" Jack commented.

"It's dangerous anyway, Joseph" the Asian Assassin resolved. "You can never know who's behind a door. There are Templars who could deceive you into opening the door to get in easily. Next time wait for an adult to do it."

"Yes Mami" Joseph stared at his sneakers and rubbed a foot on the ground.

"Had I been in his shoes, I wouldn't have been able to sit down properly for a week" Desmond broke the ice after a laugh.

"Yeah, and we know how did it end with you" Shaun playfully pushed him from behind.

"Are you OK, Shaun?" Rebecca intervened approaching him.

"Ask me it when I'll have eaten" Shaun snorted leaning against a wall.

Little Joseph regained his cheer and approached Shaun.

"Your girlfriend is strange you know?" he whispered with a smirk. "She doesn't like cheesesteak… she didn't even wanna touch it. But she ate all the Brussels sprouts I didn't wanna eat yesterday!"

"She's not my girlfriend!" Shaun blushed.

"You're beet-red!" Joseph burst out laughing.

"Joseph, don't you think you're bothering him?" the boy's mother immediately rushed to the historian's rescue. "Why don't you and Dino go to pack up?"

Joseph made the same eager grin of the critter on his sweater.

"So I'm staying with Papa?"

He started skipping on the spot.

"Hooray! Heard it, Dino? We're leaving! We're staying with Papa! We're staying with Papa!"

He sprinted in the hallway and vanished behind a door.

Jack burst into laughter.

"I think we'll be stuck with him for a while" he resolved. "Was Dino the dinosaur?"

"Don't mind him, he's only excited. He behaves better usually" the boy's mother said. "You don't have to introduce yourselves. I've seen all the plan on the Hephaestus net. By the way… Desmond, I don't think you know me… Pauline Zhang, nice to meet you."

* * *

><p><em>February 1, 2013, Southampton PA, Safe house<em>

Half an hour later, Desmond had eaten his fill, changed the uniform trousers with a pair of ripped jeans, clipped his hair, and, as they wouldn't have taken back their natural color so soon, had found another bottle of hair dye (as it seemed, every team of Watchmen was well equipped) and dyed them black. He didn't think he had done an amazing job, but at least he looked like himself once again.

In the sitting room, someone had lit the fire, and Alan was poking at it. Desmond recognized some pieces of the Abstergo uniform burning among the logs, along with some of the documents.

"We have to get rid of the evidence somehow" Alan turned to him, speaking in an unusually low voice, then he pointed at one of the couches. "Ssh… he's asleep."

Joseph was lying on the smallest couch, with his hood pulled forward and swaddled in a blanket, clutching his stuffed dinosaur. Someone had taken off his glasses.

"When should we leave again?" Desmond whispered.

"No schedule for now" Alan replied. "Merlin, or Ayden or whatsisname, is checking on the situation of the Abstergo fire. We want to understand if they're planning to set road blocks to schedule diversions so you can elude them. It seems they weren't able to take good pictures of you, and anyway they'll be looking for a blond-haired guy and a dark brown-haired one, and as far as I've seen Jack is washing off the brown dye. You'll have to hide Sarah, and Shaun will have to disguise himself somehow, but apart from that you should go unnoticed. Stefanie is staying here."

"And Joseph is coming, right?"

"Right" Alan sighed. "As it seems, they somehow managed to find out about him, and they must have found out he's a descendant of Lukas Zurburg on his father's side and Shao Jun on his mother's. Now Shao Jun almost came into contact with the Philosopher's Stone, and Lukas Zurburg with the Ankh. If you consider how important those two knick-knacks are, you'll realize why Abstergo wants the boy so bad. They could have another Daniel Cross, or much worse, if he ends up in their hands. We must never, ever leave him defenseless. We're not sending him to his father, Desmond. We're leaving him in _your _care."

"The Philosopher's Stone has been destroyed" Desmond mumbled.

"Yeah but they don't know" Alan replied. "And they mustn't, as you're the reason it's gone."

He knelt near the fire again, pushing in the remaining pieces of the uniform, then he walked towards the door.

"Keep an eye on the fire and put it out when that rubbish has turned to ash" he resolved. "Oh and that sort of copybook? Jack was reading it to the little tyke."

He had picked up from the floor the copy of Flavia's memories.

"Jack should start fearing for what's left of his scalp" Desmond fumed grabbing it.

"Whatever, Des" Alan chuckled and left the room.

* * *

><p><em>The fun fact of those days was that a lot of things happened in such a brief period, even if at the opposite ends of Italia, that for me putting them together and writing them down, even with help from Marcello, Alessio, Laura and Eleonora, is turning out to be a labor.<em>

_On September 1, 1532, Garçia and Eleonora noticed that one of their windows had been smashed. With help from their older brother, they made sure their father, one step away from the designation, did not notice anything, then they paid a master glazier to replace the window. The day after, Marcello and Cecchino were supposed to leave for Fiesole… or at least they had planned to, before Arturo passed on to Cecchino Andreas's tip-off._

* * *

><p><em>September 2, 1532, Venezia, Barracks<em>

"Ready, Marcello?"

Marcello picked up his bag and nodded, then he joined Cecchino at the gate leading outside. He felt like shit thinking he had not kept his promise to Andreas, but… he just could not do it. He was scared shitless at the mere thought of getting into Mastro Tommaso's bakery.

"Where are we boarding the ferry?" he asked Cecchino, trying to shove that thought off his mind.

"From the San Polo district. I have to talk to Pietro and the others before we leave the city" Cecchino resolved. "I need someone to mind the soldiers. We're going home for once."

"Oh." Marcello sighed.

_Last chance wasted, __**cretino**__._

"Beh, sì. Now Pietro is the Maestro of Venezia, someone has to take care of Cosimo. He is all right with me, you are his best friend… and I'm not too happy about the fact they put Liberata in charge of La Rosa Colta…"

"My Zia too used to manage the brothel, in Roma" Marcello mumbled without too much certainty. "So who's going to lead the mercenaries? Arturo?"

"He would if I could decide alone. But even if he's three years older than you he also is one rank under you" Cecchino answered. They had passed by the Scuola Grande di San Marco and beyond the rooftops, to their left, they could catch a glimpse of the bell tower of the Basilica. "I'm leaving the role to Remo, for now. But if it's the truth you want, the companies of mercenaries won't last long. They've been into a decline since we lost the Bande Nere. Since the winner is not the best fighter but the biggest cannon."

Marcello did not say anything. The memory of Vanni's loss somehow still ached, like an old battle scar at the change of the weather. If that was added to his shame, the feeling was unbearable.

He was still thinking about it when beyond the _calli_ he caught a glimpse of the white walls of Palazzo Seta.

He still remembered the first time he had been there. He had immediately realized that was the place because Vanni had been leaning against the gate.

"_And what did you decide?"_

"_It does not pay at all. Neither for me, as I'm too young, nor for this country, as it's too elderly. I mean, those Council blokes sooner or later will have mold in their beards!"_

"Do you remember?" Cecchino's voice took him away from his thoughts. "It was right here we met. You weren't older than ten. I remember the Capitano almost crushed your shoulders when he introduced you to me and Benvenuto."

"Well he almost smashed your shoulders too" Marcello hinted at a reply.

"Do you remember he said he was certain you would have corrected me, one day?"

Cecchino looked around, then he leaned against the gate. He could not know he was in the same position Vanni had been seven years before.

"By the way, I never thanked you enough for saving my feathers" he resolved standing up straight again.

"You taught me for all this time. It's more than enough, Cecchino."

"If that's what you think…" Cecchino sighed and pushed the gate. "Well I have another idea."

They crossed the outer courtyard and got into the inner one, where the Brotherhood was as busy as usual. A group of kids swarmed out of the door, Oreste Spada among them with a rope on his shoulders. Arturo was discussing about something with Remo, Laura and Lavinia were bent on a map examining a route and some guard posts, and there even were Mastro Tommaso and Anselma, busy with the delivery of supplies for the occupants of the palazzo, and Tiziano, Mentore Vecellio's brother, who in the last years had developed a strong friendship with Pietro, who had helped him get past his wife's death and the hardship of raising three children two years before.

Marcello still remembered it had been Lavinia Spada, shy, silent Lavinia, who had actually helped Tiziano getting past Cecilia's death by childbirth. She had not done too much, she had barely nursed the newborn girl with a napkin and goat milk, acting almost as a dry nurse, but after two months, when Tiziano had finally picked himself up, he had named the baby after her.

Now Lavinia Vecellio was a happy-looking toddler, and while her older brothers were surely playing outside with Oreste, she was tugging at her namesake's dress and babbling something.

_Now she's another who can tell the twins apart_, Marcello thought hinting at a grin.

As he looked at the scene, Cecchino strode through the courtyard, cleared his throat and announced a "_Buon giorno a tutti_!". Many people turned, Laura and Lavinia included.

"A cat's brooding here" Laura uttered folding her arms. "A big _tomcat_."

"You say?" Marcello hastily went to her side, but he avoided greeting her with a kiss like he would have usually done. Not in front of Mastro Tommaso.

Yet, Cecchino was approaching the very Lombard baker.

"Messer Spada. I was looking for you."

Mastro Tommaso looked puzzled, not too much for the "messere", as since his move to Venezia almost everyone in the Brotherhood addressed him like that, but for the fact Cecchino was talking to him.

_Actually, why is he talking to him? Wasn't he supposed to talk to Pietro?_

"Now, Tommaso… can I call you Tommaso, right?" Cecchino continued. Laura was right, the big tomcat was brooding. "You know, in the Brotherhood, a Master Assassin can act _in loco parentis_ for an Apprentice…"

"So?" Mastro Tommaso asked.

"Sorry for the _latinorum_. I almost ended up as a lawyer because of my old man, meh. I just want to say that, when a parent is missing, a Master acts as one."

Mastro Tommaso lifted his eyebrows, then he threw a dirty look at Arturo.

"What did he do?" he asked in a tone that could have preceded murder.

"First of all, I'd want to remind you that Arturo's teacher is Pietro, not me" Cecchino replied shielding himself with his hands. "I only answer for Marcello. Second, Arturo behaved in a model way. I'd leave him to lead the soldiers if he had the age and the experience. Now… could we talk in private?"

Marcello understood even less of the matter, but Laura seemed to have understood something, judging by her grin.

"Sì, you too, Laura" Cecchino continued pointing at a secluded corner. Marcello sighed: he thought he had realized what was Cecchino trying to do. But who had blown the whistle on him?

"As I was saying before, I only answer for this mousey here" Cecchino continued once they all were in the corner. "He has something to tell you but he's too afraid to do it."

Marcello felt his face and ears getting hot, and cursed himself for having pulled back his hood once he had been inside the palazzo. How could Cecchino know? That had been planned, it was for sure.

Mastro Tommaso looked in his eyes, and Marcello stared at the tips of his boots, wishing with all his strength he could run away or disappear.

"Now Marcello, will you look at me, per favore?" the former land owner asked.

Marcello looked up a bit and opened his mouth, then he closed it.

"WantedtoknowifyoumindifLauraandIaredating!" he spat out without breathing between one word and another.

Laura laughed and put a hand on his shoulder. Mastro Tommaso hinted at a grin.

"Sorry, Marcello, but lately I've become a bit hard of hearing. Could you repeat it slowly?"

"Do you… mind if… Laura and I… are… together?"

Mastro Tommaso's grin widened.

"Well, Marcello… about time too!"

* * *

><p><em>We came to know Mastro Tommaso was hoping it would happen. Laura had been confiding with him in all those years, but… well she hadn't been "born in the Brotherhood" like me, Marcello and Alessio, and she was sure it was not a good thing for her to do the "leap of faith" and propose to Marcello.<em>

_Not that Alessio ever asked me, fancy that. We were together and it was all right for us. The matter was the world._

_In the same day in which Cecchino forced Marcello out of his silence, Alessio managed to flush out the Templar threatening the Alvarez._

* * *

><p><em>September 2, 1532, Napoli<em>

It had been Eleonora's scream to lure Alessio in the alley behind the palazzo. A lanky boy, with chestnut curls and a dagger identical to the ones found on the door in his hands, was clutching her clothes with his free hand and threatening her with the weapon.

"Hey, you! Not so honest, picking on kids younger than you!"

The boy ignored him. He somehow resembled Cosimo… without his innocent mischievous look. His gaze screamed blood thirst.

"I'm talking to you… _Lorenzino._"

The boy had a start. Alessio hinted at a smirk.

"Or should I say Lorenzaccio? Your cousin told me your name was that…"

Lorenzino turned and gritted his teeth. Alessio couldn't help noticing he had let go Eleonora's clothes. His mind was off the matter.

Alessio held out a hand and made a challenging gesture.

"Come on, _coglione_. Pick on the bad guy."

Alessio noticed the motion of Lorenzino's arm just in time to duck, and the silver flash of the dagger flew hissing dangerously over his head.

"So it was you giving knives for free?" Alessio mocked him getting back to his usual stance. "No grazie, I have enough."

He flexed his wrists and extended his hidden blades. Lorenzino unsheathed a sword and started charging him. Alessio closed his guard and parried the blow.

"What are you waiting for, Eleonora? RUN!" he burst out trying to hold back his enemy's sword.

Eleonora left the alley and disappeared behind a corner. Lorenzino broke free from the parry and struck back, aiming to the legs. Alessio jumped backwards and left a mark of his left blade on Lorenzino's sword arm.

_Aim to the vital functions if you want to kill. Hit the weapon arm or the legs if you want to disarm, immobilize and interrogate._

Before he could close his guard, Lorenzino blocked his arm and directed a slash to his throat. Alessio managed to block it with his right blade, but not fast enough to avoid a small cut on the neck.

"You're not such a braggart now you have a booboo, are you?" Lorenzino sneered in his same jeering tone.

Alessio did not reply… _don't play fair, everything is permitted when your life is in jeopardy…_ lifted a foot and hit the Templar's knee.

Lorenzino wailed in pain, staggered backwards and took a hand to the injured spot.

"And next time I'll aim higher!" Alessio snarled. "Do you think the Brotherhood is deaf and blind? I know you paid Checco Savona to kill the Apprentices!"

"_Not_ the Apprentices" Lorenzino closed his guard and got ready to strike again. "Do you really think I have an interest in your little pals? No, the matter is that dreaming bum of _my cousin_. I knew he'd have been in Roma. Obviously he decided to be a snooper like his lunatic old man and that _puttana_ of his grandmother! Freedom, right? Empty words! He can't even know what that bunch of gallows birds could do if they were left to their own… something like… oh I don't know… _Savonarola_?"

"You chose the wrong example, _coglione_, those people had been bewitched!" Alessio lifted his vambrace and parried the blow. He tried to strike back, but Lorenzino moved faster. Alessio felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder, and felt a steel object pressing in the aching spot. He tried to move, but Lorenzino had nailed him to the wall.

"You will not stop me" Lorenzino growled.

_What would Altair do now?_, Alessio found himself thinking. _Did he ever get pinned to a wall by a madman?_

"Pietro Alvarez's family will have an unfortunate accident… unfortunate enough for them to leave this city for once…"

_He'd use the Apple probably…_

"The Kaiser will choose someone else… someone with enough wealth and power to keep the city for long…"

_What do you have now…_

"But you won't live to see it…"

_Think, Alessio, think…_

"As for your girlfriend…"

_You're NOT Altair! Do what YOU would do!_

Alessio's left hand dug into one of his pouches and pulled out a sticky cloth bag. A slight motion of his wrist was enough to toss it on Lorenzino's clothes.

After a handful of seconds, there was a loud bang, and Lorenzino got covered in blood. He staggered, visibly frightened, and dropped his sword, and Alessio took the chance to break free and pick it up.

"Eight years in the Brotherhood and I still have to find the Templar who doesn't scream like a baby when I drop a blood bomb" Alessio smirked pointing the sword at its owner. His right arm screamed in protest, but he did not lower it.

Lorenzino made a few steps backwards, then he turned and ran away, not without screaming "It doesn't end here!". Alessio took a hand to his wounded shoulder and watched him run away. He could have never followed him… he even doubted he could climb with a wounded shoulder. Then again, Lorenzino looked more like a puppet than a puppeteer. A coward puppet in the bargain.

"This way, this way, they were dueling…"

Alessio turned his head. Eleonora was back, and with her there were Iskender, Benvenuto and Flavia. She had called for help.

"Alessio… are you alright?"

Benvenuto's calloused hands immediately inspected his wounds.

"It was like we suspected… it was Lorenzaccio…" Alessio panted.

"Don't worry, it's over" Flavia told him coming to his side. She pulled a cloth out of a pouch and bandaged his shoulder the best she could.

"I really wish it was" Alessio sighed. "I think he wanted to kill Eleonora or one of the Alvarez kids, or harm them anyway. And they want Cosimo. They want to get rid of him. That's why he paid Savona to attack the Apprentices."

Benvenuto opened his eyes wide.

"_Cosimo?_" he burst out. "What could they want from a kid?"

Flavia sighed.

"I'd say it's obvious" she said. "He's a boy and a Medici, as well as the son of an Assassin and an Apprentice he himself. We shouldn't worry too much about him though, not for now. He's with Francesco. At the moment the matter is you… you should see a doctor."

"You always say so, Flavia, and then I heal and get better than before" Alessio snorted.

The wounded shoulder had started throbbing, but he did not want to show it. All through the ages, Flavia and Benvenuto had always worried for him just like if they had been wounded in his place.

"Sometimes trying to look strong will only hurt you more, _ibni_" Iskender commented approaching him.

Alessio made an annoyed gesture with his left hand.

"Baah… Nonno…" he protested, almost instinctively. Near him, though, only Flavia had a start. Benvenuto was definitely noisier: he gasped.

"Flavia, take Eleonora home and tell her brothers what happened" he stuttered. "I'll go with Alessio and look for a surgeon. That _stronzo_ should not come back."

He held up Alessio by his uninjured shoulder ("Benvenuto, really! I can walk!") and took him away.

As they walked away, Alessio could hear Flavia saying something to Iskender.

"… didn't you notice? I heard him calling you "Nonno"…"

"He called me what?"

"He never did before."

* * *

><p><em>I don't think that, hadn't I pointed it out, Iskender would have understood what Alessio had meant. For him it had almost been like a meaningless gabble.<em>

_Luckily, Lorenzino had hit no vital point with his sword, and Alessio got back to the workshop with five stitches and his arm in a sling. I wasn't there when he came back: Iskender and I had stayed behind in the street, in case there could have been others attempting to harm the Alvarez._

* * *

><p>Flavia looked around and sighed. The compline had already rung, and the road looked deserted.<p>

"I don't think they'll come back" she said. "I don't even think that _cretino_ expected our presence here."

"Better safe" Iskender mumbled. "That Cosimo you were talking about. Who is he?"

"One of the Apprentices" Flavia explained. "He has been in the Brotherhood since his father died of battle wounds six years ago. He also is my brother's best friend. But he's safe, Mentore Vecellio is with him."

"I think I heard the boy is his cousin."

"Second cousin" Flavia sighed again. "Cosimo had told me they never really got along, but he had talked about simple bullying. Now he even wants him _dead_… someone must have incited him."

"No clue on who could have done it?" Iskender asked sitting on a bench.

"None" Flavia mumbled. "We know someone is pulling the strings. We don't know who."

"You have a start now" Iskender said. "That Lorenzaccio. You know he's a Templar. Now, Coso…"

"Cosimo."

"Whatever. He must know something about him. Do you think he could tell you something about the people Lorenzaccio hangs out with?"

"If he can't, maybe his mother could."

"You have to get to know everything about this Lorenzaccio. Where he lives. The people he meets. Even the whores he sleeps with. Anything could be a clue. Alvarez may be safe… but Lorenzaccio and his master are still around."

The rude comment Cosimo had made about Duca Alessandro and Lorenzaccio came to Flavia's mind.

_Pitch Face can take it in his ass, as he does it with Lorenzino._

What kind of relationship had Duca Alessandro with Lorenzino?

"What about you?" Flavia asked. "What were you looking for here in Napoli?"

Iskender gestured her to sit.

"Even after your father left the Brotherhood, there were Assassins he still kept in touch with" he explained.

"Francesco and Giovanni" Flavia murmured.

"He did it with me too" Iskender continued. "I came to know Alessio had been left alone at age two."

He hid his face behind his hands.

"I would have wanted to come to Roma, that day. I _should_ have done my duty, and take him away, with me" he said, as he kept looking at the ground. "There was war, in Egypt. The Brotherhood needed someone to keep it together. To fight for the people. When I answered to your father and told him there was nothing I could have done, I thought I was signing my own sentence."

He seemed on the edge of tears.

"When the fight for control ended, eight years ago, I stopped getting news. But three years before I had come to know Alessio had ran off and was avoiding the Brotherhood…"

"My father had left us eight years ago" Flavia commented. "But I thought Francesco…"

"I don't think he knew me" Iskender resolved.

He looked at his boots and kicked up a heap of dust.

"I'm not here for the Brotherhood" he said standing up slowly. "I thought Alessio was still in the streets, in Roma, alone against the world. I did not think I would have found him here. Actually, I was here in Napoli only because I knew Filippo's family was here. I won't say I was hoping for them to help, but…"

He sighed.

"I thought I was coming here to save him, Flavia, but the truth is you and Benvenuto did it already."

Flavia stood up in turn and looked at the road.

"We didn't do so much actually" she commented. "Eventually, it was Alessio who came to us."

"He is very fond of you, isn't he?" Iskender grinned to her.

Flavia restricted herself to nodding, not knowing how to explain that Alessio was fond of her as much as she was fond of him.

"Good. Should he miss me when I'll go home… stay close to him."

_Right._ Iskender would have had to go back to Alexandria. He, too, had found what he had been looking for, and now Benvenuto's mission in Napoli was over, he had no reason to stay in Italia. Unless…

"You could stay."

Iskender grinned in return.

"I'd do it. But the Brotherhood is still counting on me. I've stayed away from home far too much. I'm bound to my hometown as Alessio is bound to yours."

He made a few steps in the street, took a look to the East, then he turned to Flavia again.

"I would have expected anything, from him. Everything but to see him as he is now. A young man, brave, skilled and happy. And if he and you will stay together, I can't wish you anything but all the best in this world."

* * *

><p><em>Thus ended our mission in Napoli.<em>

_We kept watch for two more days, until September 4, 1532, the day in which Pietro Alvarez was confirmed Viceroy of Napoli._

_Iskender left that day, and, while Benvenuto and I kept an eye on the newly-elected Viceroy's parade, just in case Lorenzino made a desperate attempt to sabotage the ceremony, Alessio stayed in the workshop. I think he even cried._

_The day after I found him at one of the tables, with a quill in a hand and two lines on a sheet. When I tried to ask him an explanation, he snorted and rolled the sheet into a ball._

_Then, on our way to Firenze…_

… _I saw him writing again._

_Oh, and Eleonora never gave back that picture. After all that had happened, we all forgot it._

_But she did not forget us._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Cretino = cretin<strong>_

_**Beh, sì = well yeah**_

_**Calli = alleys. Very narrow alleys. Typical of Venice. You can't walk in two side by side in them.**_

_**Buon giorno a tutti = good morning everybody!**_

_**Per favore = please**_

_**Coglione = dickhead**_

_**No grazie = no thanks**_

_**Stronzo = asshole**_

"_**A cat's brooding here" is the literal translation of an Italian proverb that means "there's something fishy about this". The big tomcat obviously is Cecchino.**_

_**By the way, the movie a feverish Desmond had watched years before is Nineteen Eighty-Four.**_


End file.
